


Sun and Moon

by pfangirl



Category: Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfangirl/pseuds/pfangirl
Summary: An alternate universe tale with college student Lara Croft actively exploring her sexuality, and how it affects her relationship with best friend and flatmate Sam Nishimura.





	1. Chapter 1

God, she was excited. She couldn't wait to tell Lara.

She was only supposed to be back the following afternoon, but the shoot had gone so well that they'd finished a day early. She'd just managed to catch the last train from Nottingham back to London. Not that she would have minded hanging around on location longer.

That was the thrilling bit.

The director of the documentary short had been so impressed by her suggestions that he'd asked her if she was keen for a job at his production company during the Spring vac.

Here she was thinking that the compulsory internship part of her course would be suffocating and pointless, but instead it had flung open doors. And not once was "Nishimura Media Holdings" name-dropped to give her a professional advantage. She'd done it all on her own.

_Suck it, Dad!_

* * *

 

It was well after 9 when she sneaked into the apartment she shared with Lara. Instead of her typical unceremonious dumping, Sam lowered her bags to the floor and silently crossed the living area. She wanted her return to be a complete surprise. It was always fun to creep up and startle her reticent, always too contemplative, flatmate right out of her head.

Sam noticed that there were a couple of beers on the kitchen counter, which was unusual but not unheard of. Under Sam's expert tutelage, Lara had been learning to relax. After a particularly stressful week the reluctant baroness and closeted party girl sometimes liked to take the edge off with a drink or two. Evidently this was one of those times.

In fact, that was great. It probably meant that Lara would be more receptive to having a celebratory shot or six with her BFF.

* * *

 

Sam slid open the door to Lara's room. Inside it was dim, with just the bedside lamp providing soft illumination that didn't even reach the edges of the small space. No doubt Lara had dozed off already. When she wasn't working, the English girl would inevitably end up passed out on top of her duvet before ten, still dressed and still, typically, clutching a book to her chest.

There she was, as expected.

Lara lay on her side, her back to Sam. The lamp just managed to pick out the random auburn strands in her hair.

It was probably cruel to disturb her when she was asleep – she really didn't get enough between uni and her three jobs – but Sam was too excited. It was Christmas morning; a 4:30 wake-up shouldn't be unexpected.

Sam padded silently across the room.

Two feet from the bed, she paused. "Wake up, Sleepy He–"

The words tangled in her mouth and promptly crashed onto her tongue.

Lara wasn't alone.

Up close, it was obvious.

The English girl's top was pulled way up, exposing her back and bra strap. She'd kicked off her cargoes and was only in her panties. And hands had snaked around her shoulders, and were playing with her ponytail. Woman's hands.

_Holy shhh –_

It kind of all happened at once. Sam's swallowed words. Her realisation. Lara rolling over to look at her, blinking lazily, "Sam...?"

And then Lara leaping upright, flailing, swearing and – Sam couldn't help but notice – yanking her hand out of her companion's trousers.

Sam was still trying to process the scene before her when she realised Lara was wide-eyed and yelling.

"Sam! _Jesus Christ_! What are you doing here?"

"Uh... We finished early."

It still seemed to happening entirely in slow motion. Even her words were drawn out, cumbersome in her mouth like boulders beginning to roll down a hill face. Every syllable was followed by a pause, perfectly timed with each rock bounce.

The film student found herself staring at the girl Lara was with. She was Asian. Chinese, with long silky hair past her shoulder blades. And at that moment she was topless, one arm pressed over her pert little breasts as she scrambled around on the floor for her discarded bra and top.

It seemed to take all of three seconds for her to dress again, while Lara tugged her shirt straight – so to speak – and spat out the full spectrum of foul-mouthed sailor's expletives. Roth would have been proud.

When the Chinese girl stood erect again, her eyes instantly locked with Sam's. They couldn't help it. They were the same height.

_Well, this was awkward._

The young woman's gaze tracked from Sam to Lara, and then back again. Her brow furrowed as she asked, "Lara? Is – Is this your girlfriend?"

The archaeology student barked, " _NO_!"

Sam added, "I'm her roommate."

The young woman seemed to accept the explanation, but continued to frown. Eventually she settled on a sensible swift-exit strategy. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but clearly you two need to talk." She spoke with an unexpected twanging accent. It was too deep to be Australian though, so Sam guessed she was was a New Zealander.

The girl gestured to the door, "I'll just let myself out."

As she passed Lara, her palm settled on the English girl's forearm. Sam noticed the way the young woman's fingertips stroked the length of her friend's arm. "Lara, call me, alright? I had a really good time."

The archaeology student didn't seem to be listening properly. She looked flustered, distracted – unable to meet the girl's eyes; unable to look at Sam.

Less than a minute later, the flatmates heard the front door click shut.

That was when Lara exploded.

"Get out!"

Sam began to turn, but then changed her mind. If she left, she knew they would never discuss this, and the issue would sit there forever between them like a third person – a half-naked, ethnic Chinese, Kiwi third person.

"No."

The response came from between clenched teeth. "This is _none_ of your business, Sam. Go away."

"I don't understand..."

Lara snapped, "Do you really want me to say it? Out loud, just to add to my humiliation?"

When Sam didn't reply, Lara shook her head. Her eyes remained downcast. Flame-cheeked and hands on hips, she seemed fixated on the carpet. Eventually she muttered, "Bollocks."

Finally, something in the situation that Sam could get a handle on. She and Lara had been friends long enough for her to recognise the English girl's tone of resignation. And Lara had been friends with Sam long enough to know that brushing off the film student was like trying to shake free of a conjoined twin.

From her laundry basket, Lara seized the oversized _Archaeologists Dig It!_ t-shirt that Sam had given her the previous Christmas. She yanked it over her head. It did a marginally better job than her tank top at covering her exposed thighs.

Then she sank back onto her bed; head in hands.

Sam didn't move. She had a pretty good idea what was coming.

When Lara raised her face again, her expression was stranded halfway between blind fury and a good bawl. "What the fuck, Sam?! When will you learn to respect other people's privacy? God!"

"I – I'm sorry."

"Boundaries, Sam, boundaries! Fuck! How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a private person. Don't you get that?"

"What I don't get is why you thought you needed to sneak around about this?"

A weird look passed in a wave over Lara's face. Sam couldn't read it, which surprised her. Normally she was so good at interpreting people. It didn't matter though. It was gone in an eye blink and Lara simply looked tired.

She wove her fingers together and sighed, "I – I didn't want you to overreact."

"How could you think that?"

"Because of this. Right now."

Sam chuckled, "This is hardly me overreacting, sweetie."

"Making a big deal then," Lara snapped. "Is that better?"

Sam was crossing a monstrous hall tiled with booby-trap touch plates. One wrong step and she'd lose a leg, if not more. Lara was still scowling at her.

The American girl approached her friend tentatively. She lowered herself onto the mattress right next to her roommate. She didn't have the courage to make eye contact. Instead, she found herself picking at her nails.

_Icebreaker, Sam, icebreaker._

She addressed her cuticles. "So, uh, is she your girlfriend?"

She felt Lara stiffen alongside her for a moment, and then relax. "No, we – we're..." She stumbled over her words and eventually murmured, "We're just messing around."

"Whoa!" Sam couldn't help it. "Lara 'Mother Superior' Croft has a fuck buddy?"

Her friend glared at her, "This is _exactly_ why I didn't want you to know." Then she clenched her eyes shut and growled at herself, "God, I cocked this up so badly."

Sam chanced a glance at Lara's expression. Normally she delighted in every opportunity to tease her flatmate and leave her red-cheeked and squirming, but right then Lara looked so completely miserable. This was Next Level Embarrassment. Time to play the supportive bestie.

"Lara, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit surprised, that's all."

That was true. During two years of friendship – including a handful of budget backpacking trips where they practically lived in each other's pockets – Lara had barely expressed interest in guys, let alone girls. Until that very evening, Sam would have said her friend's only turn-ons were books and buried treasure.

The English student swung her face towards her companion. "You – You're upset."

"Lara, I'm not upset because you're, what...? Gay? Bi?"

The brunette winced at each term as if they'd pinched her.

Sam continued, "If anything, I'm upset because I just discovered my best friend is hiding a huge part of herself from me. We've been living together for almost a year and I thought –"

Lara interrupted. "This _isn't_ a huge part of myself. Who I shag is unimportant."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

Another sullen, muttered response. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Lara! Seriously?"

The English girl slapped her hands down on her knees. "I don't know what I am, alright? I'm trying to figure things out."

She didn't add "On my own". Of course. That was typical Lara. So insistent on self-reliance even when a whole support system was waiting if she simply looked back over her shoulder.

After taking a steadying breath, Lara managed to reign in her temper again. Subdued, she explained, "I didn't want you to ever see something like that."

"What? Categorical proof that Lara Croft is a normal college girl?"

"Normal?" the brunette sneered.

"That you have fully functional hormones. Physical appetites. Drives." Sam grinned and nudged her friend in the ribs. Except there was no response to the American girl's attempts at levity. That was worrying.

Lara was staring off into space, and frowning.

Sam brought her back. "You're not ashamed about this are you, Lara?"

The look in the English girl's eyes; she didn't have to answer.

Sam seized her friend's hand. "Sweetie, hey, I'm here for you. No matter what. Loads of us are. Roth adores you." She added with a cheeky smile, "He'd probably high five you for scoring such a hot piece of ass."

"Sam!"

"I'm just kidding." She squeezed Lara's palm between both of her own. "What I'm not kidding about is how okay this is. I don't know why you thought I'd freak out?"

"I was worried it would change things between us if you knew. That you'd feel uncomfortable and pull away."

God, she looked so sad when she said that.

"Lara, I have loads of gay friends; guys mostly, but still. Plus you're my best friend. Nothing's gonna change that." She added, "And besides, this is college. It's a time for exploring. Isn't that what you're all about?"

Lara cocked her head. "Have you ever –?"

"I've kissed a girl or two. Almost had a threesome once, but the guy pushing for it was such a douchebag that it totally killed my ladyboner."

Sam decided to continue lathering on the reassurance. "Lara, honestly, if a woman was even halfway curious about what it would be like with another girl, you'd be top of her list; first prize."

Lara looked like she was about to ask something else but then clamped her lips over the question.

Sam added, "You're gorgeous, ridiculously smart and sweet."

Lara arched an eyebrow, dryly. "Go on."

"And just so adorably nerdy. It's sickening how perfect you are."

That earned the film student a return shoulder nudge.

Sam chuckled, "Lara, you're the full package. Seriously, you could get so much pussy."

"Sam!"

Despite the English girl's horrified hiss, her friend had still managed to coax a proper smile out of her. Good. Sam's preferred state was playful, and that never meshed well with Lara when she was down in the dumps.

The American girl grinned, "This is great; it makes things so much easier. I know hot guys but I know way more hot women. I can so get you laid."

Lara pulled a face. "Ugh. It was bad enough when you were just trying to set me up with blokes."

Sam winked, "So, are you a top or a bottom?"

Insecurity flashed again in Lara's wide eyes. "I – I don't even know what that means."

"Well..." _What was a good Urban Dictionary definition again?_ "Do you get the most fulfilment from getting girls off, or do you prefer it when they get you off?"

Lara seemed to seriously contemplate the question for a second. Then her face scrunched up in disgust. Sam watched all her hard work crumble like a derelict building come implosion time.

Lara grumbled, "Stop. You know what? Enough. I'm not talking about this any more."

"You could be versatile."

Lara ignored her. She stood instead. "I'm going for a run."

Sam leaned back on the mattress. "Are you sure you don't want a cold shower instead?"

The English girl began rummaging for her uni tracksuit and running shoes.

"Come on, Lara, it must be after 10 by now. You'll be mugged or hit by a car or something."

"I'll take my chances. A gang of knife-wielding chavs is better than this Inquisition."

Sam didn't move from the bed until after her flatmate was gone. Her first instinct was to retrieve her phone. Starting right then and there, she had a new personal project. She was going to find Lara Croft a girlfriend.


	2. Chapter 2

In hindsight, it hadn't been her smartest move.

Lara's reaction… Well, as much as it had frightened Sam at the time, the American girl could understand it. Although Sam had viewed her actions as a good deed, the reality was that she'd been stupid and inconsiderate.

A fortnight later, she was still crouched dead-legged under an overhang, waiting for the violent, lightning-flinging storm to move on.

* * *

It all started two Wednesdays ago. Lara returned from uni in the early evening as usual. The archaeology student looked bemused as she shrugged off her backpack and hung up her jacket behind the front door. For once Sam didn't have to poke an explanation out of her best friend. Lara, uncharacteristically, offered the information on her own.

The American girl lay across the couch. She was busy watching Requiem for a Dream as part of a cinematography critique assignment, when Lara entered the lounge.

"The strangest thing just happened, Sam."

Lara's brow was pinched, but a curl to the corner of her lips suggested she wasn't exactly displeased about whatever had occurred.

Sam paused the film to give her flatmate her undivided attention. "And what's that, babe?"

Lara held up the paper bag clutched in her left hand.

She explained, "After class I stopped by the bakery to pick up some of those cream buns you always drool over, and the girl behind the counter smiled at me."

Sam smirked, "I know British customer service can be crap at times but I hardly call a smile strange."

"No, I mean, she really smiled at me. Like…" Lara's cheeks reddened as she fumbled around in her head for the most suitable words. "…a _flirty_ smile."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I guess. I suppose I'm just not used to…" Her voice faded. One second later, her expression followed suit.

"You okay, sweetie?" her flatmate asked.

Suddenly stiff in posture and pronunciation, Lara muttered, "What did you do?"

"Huh? I have no idea what you're talking about."

A heartbeat too late, Sam realised that she had responded too brightly.

It stoked the suspicion behind Lara's eyes. Her jaw clenched.

"What did you _do_ , Sam?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me"

"Lara, I'm not."

The film student tried to mask her nerves with a chuckle. She added, "Jesus, paranoid much? Don't you think it's a bit early to be embracing the Looney Lesbian cliché?"

"I know you, Sam. I know when you're hiding something – how you start acting."

"I'm not acting like any–"

"You're guilty of something. What happened at the bakery; that was your doing somehow."

"Don't be absurd."

Sam leapt to her feet. She snatched up her glass at the same time, and started to step in the direction of the kitchenette.

Lara blocked the escape route with her body.

"No. This conversation doesn't end until you tell me what you did."

Sam pulled a face. Talk about a role-reversal – Miss Easier to Run insisting on communication until an issue was resolved.

"Lara, there's nothing to say," the wannabe documentary maker whimpered.

"Tell me! I know yo–"

The rage drained out of Lara's expression. She'd found the answer all on her own. Sam wasn't surprised. Proficiency at puzzle-solving was hardcoded into the archaeology student's DNA.

When Lara spoke again, her voice was notched just above a whisper. Still, Sam could hear the waver beneath it. "You – you outed me? Didn't you? You told people?"

"Lar–"

" _You outed me_!" the English girl roared.

Sam cringed. Her friend's retreat into herself had simply been the tide drawing back from the beach before a tsunami struck.

Lara's arm lashed out. The back of her hand connected with Sam's wrist and the film student lost her grip on the glass. It promptly shattered against the wall.

Both girls stared at the carnage.

Sam had always suspected that Lara had a temper. It was always the sweet, shy librarian types you had to worry about. But that didn't mean it wasn't still petrifying to witness the eruption first hand.

Even Lara seemed to be shocked about her reaction.

For a split second she teetered on the edge of an apology. Then her expression reverted to a glare, and set hard as granite.

She spat, "How could you? How _could you_ , Sam?!"

She was so angry she was shaking.

Fearing another outburst, Sam offered her explanation as demurely as possible. She was a pup showing her belly in submission. "I was just trying to help."

"By broadcasting to the world about me? Is there a fucking Facebook group I need to know about? _Ladies, start your engines! Lara Croft is a lesbian_!"

"It's not like –"

"No! This is beyond _anything_ that you've ever done." Lara paused for a steadying breath, and Sam recognised the shimmer across her friend's pupils as imminent tears.

_Oh God._

Somehow though, Lara managed to keep the waterworks dammed. Instead, blinking steadily, she hissed, "Do you have any idea how much you've humiliated me, Sam? How much you've hurt me?"

The American girl felt awful. She started to reach out. "Babe…"

Lara shrugged away from the physical contact. "Don't!" She frowned at the ground, "I can't even look at you right now."

She shoved the bag of buns into her roommate's chest and sprinted for her bedroom.

The door slammed, and that was that.

* * *

So commenced one of the most miserable and awkward periods of Sam's life.

Lara was going out of her way to avoid her best friend. Or _former best friend_ if Sam had the courage to consider that awful possibility.

By eavesdropping on phone conversations, the film student was able to find out that Lara was working as many shifts at the Nine Bells as were available. And when she wasn't pouring pints and mopping up the vile combination of spilt beer and stale crisps, she was practically living in the uni library.

Sam's busy social life and studies meant she kept odd hours as it was. With Lara's schedule shifting into hyper-erratic mode, the flatmates were rarely at home simultaneously. Even when they were, Lara evidently couldn't bear to be in the same room as Sam.

It was like some weird fucking domestic version of Ladyhawke. Their lives didn't intersect except for maybe a momentary meeting over breakfast. Sam would enter the kitchen and find Lara there, usually reading a book while she sipped tea and munched on a slice or two of toast.

The girls' eyes would meet, a greeting would start to part Sam's lips…

But before she could finish, Lara would silently close her book, stack her plate and Dr Who mug on the hardcover, and retreat to her Fortress of Solitude.

The only variation on this routine had been the time Sam caught Lara poring over a newspaper instead of one of her grubby history tomes. The American girl's heart had shuddered with the realisation that her roommate was circling flatshares in the classifieds.

Sam's worst nightmare seemed to be coming true.

And no matter what she did – no matter how much she tried to explain – Lara refused to listen. Or engage with her in any way.

Even on campus, when Sam spotted her friend in the distance, her wave went unacknowledged.

At first the film student had felt guilty. She was sick to her stomach with self-loathing, because she could understand Lara's sense of betrayal. The English girl was incredibly guarded about her private life, and given what she did, Sam may as well have hit Speaker's Corner with a megaphone and a box full of Lara's panties to hand out to passers-by.

Two weeks later though, the situation was starting to get on Sam's tits. Normally when she felt so ignored, it involved her parents. Over the course of her life, they had turned disregarding her into an art form, so by the time she reached her twenties any similar sensation riled her up as instantly – and effectively – as someone tugging on her hair. And then she reacted recklessly.

So she was on the brink of confronting Lara with a shrieked "Get over it!" when the stubborn English girl, surprisingly, initiated conflict resolution on her own.

* * *

Sam arrived back at the flat after her Thursday afternoon classes. She fully expected to have the place to herself as per the new status quo.

A minute later, though, she almost dropped her camera bag at the sight before her.

Sitting at the kitchen counter, clearly waiting for her flatmate – with a mug of still-steaming tea and plate stacked pyramid-style with Jaffa Cakes – was a silent, scowling Lara.

_Christ, it was just like dealing with her parents._

Sam swallowed. She'd had a whole script planned for when Lara was ready to talk. Except just then she'd forgotten every single one of her lines. Her brain was a freshly ransacked apartment. The only thing she could find in the mess were memories of defiance; how good it always felt to snipe back… even as her conscious mind bleated warnings against that course of action here.

_Don't poke a snarling dog with a stick,_ she heard in her obaasan's voice.

Sam ignored the counsel. Crossing her arms, she initiated the conversation. She knew she was being stupid, but she refused to make conciliation easy. She wanted her mule-headed flatmate to feel as uncomfortable as she had the past few weeks.

Sam muttered, "Do you want to give me a minute to improvise a shield, Lara? If you're going to start throwing things again, I want to be prepared."

The archaeology student's glower intensified. For an instant, Sam saw flame dance across her irises.

_Oh, shit._

Three seconds and several blinks later, however, the fire went out. Lara simply looked exhausted. Her head dipped, and she exhaled, "I – I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I let my temper get the better of me."

"Well, just so you know, you're fucking terrifying when you're angry."

The sensible thing would have been keeping her mouth shut.

Sam's luck held, though, and she managed to avoid treading on a mine.

For whatever reason, Lara ignored the provocation. Instead, she winced, "What exactly did you tell people, Sam?"

"Just that you were interested in girls, and that you were in the market to explore that part of yourself. I didn't explicitly say you were over guys either, for the record."

"So as far as everyone at uni is concerned, I'm bi? And open to propositions from both teams?"

Sam watched her friend's fist tighten ominously on the counter surface.

Lara grimaced, "I hate attention, you know that. I hate people talking about me. I just want to live my life quietly…"

"…digging in the dirt in the middle of nowhere. I know, sweetie. So I'm sorry. Truly. I should never have spread word like that, without checking with you first."

Sam dared a step forward. "But I was trying to help you, Lara."

"Help me? You mortified me; you revealed my personal life to the world."

"I maintain that I helped you, sweetie. If you're gay, your dating pool has shrunk drastically. You have to advertise your interest and availability."

"This isn't a game for me – some twisted marketing project. I told you, I don't even know what I'm _selling_ at this stage…"

Lara seized her head in her hands. She groaned, "God, I wish I wasn't like this. My life would be so much easier if I didn't feel so confused about what I want."

With her face covered, Sam's approach took the English girl by surprise. Lara jerked back, eyes wide as Sam's fingers brushed over the skin of her forearm.

If her companion wasn't so upset at that moment, Sam would have chuckled. It wasn't often you got to see Lara Croft sport such a completely unmoderated, cartoonish expression.

"I'm here for you, babe," Sam murmured. "Whatever you need."

Her tone seemed to have done enough to soothe away Lara's skittishness, but Sam still reached out again and began stroking her fingertips through her friend's perpetually shaggy bangs.

She hadn't even graduated yet, and the poor girl already looked like she had been living in a dig-site tent for months without a mirror or hairbrush. Given her own immaculate 'do, Sam guessed that was the difference between growing up with a model mother and her relentless grooming rituals, and passing through puberty with just an ex-military man to check in on you.

Not that Lara seemed opposed to the attention just then. Instead of flinching, she had simply closed her eyes once the caress began.

Sam suddenly felt like a chatty hairdresser.

"You're too hard on yourself, Lara. There's no point fighting or stressing about things. You just need to work through it; untangle all the knots as it were. Like I said, I'm here for you. I want you to be happy..."

_Confession was good for the soul._

Sam added, "Most of all, I want things between us to be good. The past few weeks have been really shitty."

The archaeology student mumbled her agreement.

"Lara, you're my best friend. You're… well, you're seriously the most important person in my life. I can't lose you."

It felt weird admitting that. Even to Sam with her unfiltered emotiveness. And if she was feeling awkward over that admission, she could imagine her reticent companion was squirming in her skin.

And there it was.

Lara stood sharply, and faced her flatmate. Frowning, she took the American girl's hands in her own.

"I feel the same, Sam."

"You don't think that's kind of sad?" The film student's cheeks burned as she said it.

_Careful, Nishimura, your insecurities are showing._

"No. I consider myself incredibly lucky." Lara's frown was erased by a soft smile. "So I really don't want anything to jeopardise what we have. I've considered dropping this entire… _experiment_."

"You can't do that."

"Why not? I feel bloody awful about the way I went off at you."

"Lara, that was my fault. You can't deny a part of yourself. It's not healthy."

The English girl shrugged. "You believe in embracing every second of the present, Sam. I'm different. I spend so much time in the past – and I know you'd say _too much time_ – but as a result I'm very aware of mistakes that could have been avoided; regrets born because of those mistakes."

"And what about regrets over a life not lived?"

Lara looked taken aback. Her lips parted wordlessly. She didn't have an immediate counter to that argument thrust.

Sam pushed on with her advantage while her companion stumbled backwards.

"Please, let's not fight anymore, Lara. This can work. We just messed up the first time. Rookie mistake. You don't have to stop anything. In fact, I refuse to let you."

The archaeology student's eyes widened.

This was more like it. The dynamic between the friends was starting to feel normal again. Their talk had massaged out all the strain and inflammation that had built up in their relationship over the past fortnight.

Sam grinned, "I insist you give this a good try. No sneaking around and feeling ashamed. Even if I have to force you at gun point, you're going to date girls until the confusion ends, one way or another." She added with an arched eyebrow, "I'm not taking no for an answer, Croft. Do you understand?"

Lara flushed. "I'm actually glad you said that. I – I kind of need your help."

Her gaze dipped to her feet, and she began scuffing the toe of her boot against the floor tiles.

"Help with what?" Sam prompted.

Lara's smile was bashful when she lifted her head. "That girl at the bakery, Eloise; she asked me out. And I have no idea what to wear."


	3. Chapter 3

So Lara was dating girls.

As far as Sam was concerned that should have been the solution to her friend's ambivalence. She'd have some fun, she'd get laid, and in the end she'd know where she lay on the sexual orientation spectrum.

That's how Sam saw it anyway.

Except Lara kept breaking with the programme.

She was the most eligible bachelorette on campus – fit as the Poms would say, smart, sweet, a fucking countess with Downton Abbey to go home to – and she wasn't taking advantage of it.

She regularly went out, Sam was happy to see, but the archaeology student hadn't brought home a single girl.

With her evening dates she'd routinely return to the flat before 11, like she was a high schooler religiously sticking to a curfew. She'd get back and before she'd even stripped off her jacket, Sam – if she was in – would pounce with an inquisition. "Aaaaand? How'd it go?"

Lara would inevitably shrug, "It was nice."

"Are you going to see her again?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Then, refusing to be dragged into a game of kiss-and-tell, she'd sidle past her roommate into the living area.

Sam was tearing her hair out.

Lara's biggest problem seemed to be that she was a gentlewoman. That, or she was incredibly fussy. She could have whoever she wanted, and she wasn't seizing the opportunity.

When Sam said as much to the English girl, Lara sighed heavily, "I just didn't click with them."

"Lara, you don't need to form some deep emotional connection if you just want to fool around for a bit. Trust me."

"Hmmph." The archaeology student's narrowing eyes said it all. _You should know._

"It's not even like you need to worry about getting pregnant. You could –"

That comment pushed the brunette over the edge. "Enough, Sam! It's different for me, alright? Stop pestering me about it."

Even worse – even more inexplicably – Lara ended the friends with benefits arrangement with Mai, the Kiwi girl Sam had caught her flatmate with.

Sam had met the architecture student a few times since that awkward night of half-naked surprises over a month ago – when Lara came tumbling out of the closet as it were; fuck buddy in tow. Fortunately, since then Sam hadn't needed to divert her eyes from the girl's perfect perky nipples. Mai was always fully clothed when she stopped by the flat for a booty call.

Lara wasn't sneaking around about that any more either.

There was a routine to it. Mai would arrive. She'd greet Sam warmly, then peck Lara on the cheek. Immediately afterwards, hand in hand, the two coyly-smiling girls would disappear into Lara's room.

Mai never stayed the night. A few hours after she arrived, she'd always leave looking, Sam noted, just a touch dishevelled. Lara, similarly ruffled but sated, always saw her out.

The way the film student understood it, Lara and Mai had met and bonded at the campus bouldering wall. Both girls were restless overachievers though, so between their coursework and part-time jobs, they only got together once a week or once every second week.

Sam had been able to ferret out that Mai was part of the Hiking Club. Given that its president Dan Perkins had been trying to get inside Lara's cargo pants since First Year, that was a whole crate load of teasing ammunition. Sam loaded up and took aim.

Red-faced, Lara had thrown a cushion at her flatmate when Sam asked if the archaeology student intended on working through the entire club before graduation.

Still, though, Lara ended things with Mai.

Sam even witnessed the final few minutes play out on a grey Saturday afternoon.

With an air of distinctly post-coital grogginess about them, the girls were standing in the entrance passage, facing each other.

Sam shouldn't have been spying on them but she couldn't resist. She was curious. It didn't have anything to do with Lara being gay, or bi, or whatever she was. Sam had never seen her best friend intimate with anyone, period; and she couldn't imagine how she would behave.

The instant Sam peeked around the corner, she found the girls in a clinch. Lara hands were clasped over Mai's hips and Mai's arms interlocked behind Lara's neck. More distracting though was the fact that they were enjoying a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Sam's eyes widened. It was one thing thinking about Lara being gay as an abstract concept. It was quite another thing witnessing it first hand – the way her body moved in ripples against Mai from the groin upwards; the noises she made; how she let her jaw widen, granting her partner's tongue greater access. She even reached up and took Mai's cheek in her palm, pulling the Kiwi's face firmer against her own. Her thumb stroked back and forth, caressing flesh and bone.

The sight of it made Sam feel really weird, and she didn't like it. She was a free-spirited liberal, for fuck's sake – totally pro marriage equality. She'd kissed girls herself. So why was she creeped out by the sight of her best friend being all over another woman? She shouldn't be affected like that. Her gut reaction was that of a conservative hypocrite.

She was still scowling at herself when the young women disengaged from their kiss. They were both breathing heavily. They recognised that fact, and chuckled.

Mai grinned, "I confess, I'm going to miss that. You know I enjoyed all this."

"Me too."

They hugged long and hard.

Now that they didn't have their tongues down each other's throat, Sam had to admit they were kind of cute together.

Mai disengaged from the embrace first. She tucked her companion's errant fringe behind her ear as she murmured, "I hope you find what you're looking for, Lara."

"Thank you."

"See you around campus." Mai cocked her head, "Schedule a climbing date sometime?"

"Yeah." Lara smiled softly, "I'd like that."

They kissed again; tenderly, one final time.

Their foreheads still touching, Mai whispered, "You're going to make some girl very happy one day. Goodbye, Lara."

"Bye."

The archaeology student continued to stand in the doorway, clearly watching until her now ex-lover was out of sight.

That was Sam's cue to hightail it out of there. She scampered back to her room, flung herself on the bed and snatched up her iPad. She quickly opened YouTube and began watching the first funny cat clip in her Recommended list. Not that she needed to have rushed. Even though she could hear Lara moving about the flat, the English girl didn't seek out her best friend. Her face never appeared around the doorframe.

If it had been Sam who just ended a relationship, she would have stormed straight into Lara's room, demanded that she put aside her books, and worn out the poor girl's ear. Sam knew the value of getting stuff off her chest. Her roommate, evidently, didn't.

Lara didn't say a word. Instead, she was unusually sombre and withdrawn for the next few days. She looked out of sorts, as she would have said in her Brit speak.

So while the friends were eating Chinese takeout cross-legged on the sofa a few evenings later, Sam broached the subject.

"Are you alright, sweetie? You've seemed down the past few days."

Lara was evidently surprised that Sam had noticed. She lowered her container of cashew nut chicken and murmured, "I broke things off with Mai."

Sam feigned surprise. "What? Why?"

"I didn't want it complicating things."

"Lara, why didn't you say anything?"

The archaeology student shrugged, "I didn't think it was important."

That's not how it looked to Sam. She tried to get her friend to open up. "How do you feel about it?"

Lara gazed down into her takeout box like she expected to find the answer there. Her response sounded scripted. "I don't think I have a right to feel anything. It was just a _physical_ arrangement. There never was a future there. Also, Mai has started seeing someone. It's very casual at this stage but it wouldn't be fair to her girlfriend."

Sam flopped backwards with a groan. "Lara, you're a fucking girl scout."

That at least stoked a smile out of the archaeology student. She raised an eyebrow. "A fucking girl scout? Is there a badge for that? And what exactly does it look like?"

It was Sam's turn to fling a cushion.

But both girls were laughing. Sam was relieved. Even if Lara couldn't admit that she was hurting, she hadn't lost her dry sense of humour. That was a good sign. It meant she would bounce back soon enough, and Sam didn't have to worry about her best friend.

* * *

For a time it seemed like Sam's personal project had failed. Lara continued to go out for drinks or coffee with interested girls, but the dating seemed meaningless. She made friends; never lovers. Honestly, she was more of a nun than ever before. At least when she was sneaking around with Mai, she was getting laid regularly.

Lara liking women was reduced to being more of a concept than a reality. Mostly Sam used it as a teasing point to get a reaction out of her flatmate. The friends would be out together, or watching TV, and Sam would point at a cute girl with a grinned, "Would you do her, Lara?" or "Is _she_ your type?"

Sam never received an actual worded response. And rolled eyes didn't count as far as she was concerned.

So everything was pretty much back to normal.

That was until the evening of the Drama Society fundraiser.

The stars were aligning for a spectacular night out. It was Friday but Lara wasn't working for once. It hadn't taken much puppy eye pleading to convince her to come along to the pub. The English girl hadn't even put up much of a fight when Sam insisted she remove the book from her bag. "No reading during a night out, Lara Croft. Save being an anti-social nerd for when you get home."

A few hours later, Sam was feeling a feather-light tickle of guilt in that regard. Though the flatmates arrived at the pub together, Sam had swiftly abandoned her friend to do a tray of shots with two hot guys from the rowing team. Lara was a big girl, she reasoned. She didn't need Sam holding her hand all the time. She could pull up her big girl panties and actually talk to people; maybe even flirt with some pretty students. There was no shortage of talent in the Drama Society; Sam had worked closely with a few of them for her filmmaking assignments.

The American girl scanned the pub. She couldn't see Lara anywhere, and for a moment her heart sank at the possibility that her friend, feeling lonely and dejected, had already left. Then she found the brunette. She was perched on a stool at one of the freestanding tables, chinking pint glasses with a blonde goth girl.

It was difficult to tell how drunk Lara was. She was beaming, which was unusual, but her gestures still had the dorky stiffness Sam associated with Lara Croft sober. She also seemed to be struggling to make eye contact with the goth. Booze normally loosened her up socially.

_Christ, Lara, is that really how you pick up chicks? By channelling Colin Firth?_

At least the English girl was clearly enjoying herself. Sam thought she must be talking about archaeology – nothing else animated her or set her babbling as much.

Sam hoped Lara wasn't boring her companion with all that dusty dead history stuff, but the blonde seemed to be just as invigorated by the subject. She kept interrupting Lara with her own comments, which only delighted and further spurred on the wannabe archaeologist.

_Well, good for her._

Sam got back to flirting with the rowing boys.

She wasn't sure how much time passed. Certainly the number of shot glasses and alcopop bottles seemed to triple or quadruple before her, in between stints on the improvised dance floor.

Suddenly though, from out of the cognitive haze, emerged a moment of petrifyingly perfect clarity, like Jason Voorhees was sprinting at her out of a wall of mist, machete in hand.

The rowing boys had forgotten she was there. One murmured to the other, "Check it, mate."

They were both staring at the dance floor; practically drooling. Sam was drunk, not high, but she could imagine their tongue-lolling heads morphing into those of cartoon wolves.

She followed their gazes.

The dance floor was an impromptu affair so it was far brighter lit than at a club. That made it easy to identify individuals in the sardine can of drunk students. It took Sam less than five seconds to work out exactly what her companions were perving over.

On the periphery of the writhing mass were Lara and the goth girl.

Lara actually on a dance floor was a surprise in its own right. A greater shock though was the fact that she and the blonde – considerably taller in her platform combat boots – were all over each other. In public. With no shame whatsoever.

Hands up the back of shirts. Sandwiched grinding thighs. Hungry mouths moving over lip, throat and shoulder. They were two incredibly hot girls, and they were really going at it. The whole thing felt like the start of a lesbian porno made for straight guys. A relatively credible one, without the three-inch-long French manicures.

Sam craned her neck for a better look around the pub. The rowing boys weren't the only people enjoying the show.

The whole scene left Sam with a horrible feeling in her gut. She suddenly felt nauseous.

All her efforts were devoted to resisting the urge to heave, so she could only watch wide-eyed as the first rower held up his phone camera.

"Click," he grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

She still felt like shit the next morning. In fact, given how little sleep she'd had, she felt even worse than the night before. She should have just pushed through the nausea and gone home with one of the rowers. Because being back in the flat was a big mistake.

Sporting bedhead of the Edward Scissorhands variety, an inexplicably puffy right eye, and a tongue that had evidently been used to clean several pub ashtrays, Sam staggered through to the living area. On top of it all, she was sure she was starting to feel the ominous first niggles of PMS, physically and emotionally.

_Just great._

She was greeted with the sight of Lara and the goth girl sitting side by side at the kitchen counter, nuzzling into each other and murmuring sweet nothings over cups of tea. They were both modelling tousled hair and matching, sated smiles.

The blonde, disconcertingly, looked like the cat that had got the cream. As she grinned at her (ugh!) meal from the night before, she kept stroking her knuckles lazily up and down Lara's forearm.

There was something about the girl that Sam didn't like. She just couldn't put her finger on why.

Yet.

It didn't help the goth's case that she was wearing the _Archaeologists Dig It!_ shirt Sam had bought for Lara the previous Christmas. And evidently the blonde hadn't bothered to don anything else except for skimpy black panties. For a split-second, Sam pictured Lara's fingers peeling the fabric down the girl's thighs, and that made the film student even grumpier.

At least the real Lara was more demurely dressed – in her typically casual at-home attire of baggy PJ bottoms and Sisters of Artemis tank top.

It was time to shatter this scene of dykey domestic bliss.

"Morning, lovebirds," the film student growled as she headed straight for the kettle.

"Hey, Sam," Lara beamed. "How was the rest of your evening?"

The American girl ignored the question. She simply pointed at the breakfast residue before the two young women on the countertop. "Can I get in on the fry-up action?"

It looked like the morning meal had been scrambled eggs, beans and toast, drenched in Worcestershire sauce and ketchup – just the way Lara liked it.

"Oh." Sam's roommate leapt to her feet. She was like a freshly graduated soldier ready to impress. She practically saluted.

The truth was that the American girl wasn't really hungry. But she wanted to see how quickly Lara would react. Almost instantly, as it turned out.

Sam shaped her lips into a saccharine smile. "If it isn't too much trouble."

The passive aggression went right over Lara's head. "Of course not," she grinned. She was practically bouncing as she picked up the carton of eggs and mixing bowl. Getting laid had evidently put a literal spring in her step.

As she set to work, she looked up at her companions. "Sam, this is – "

"Amanda," the wannabe filmmaker finished. Of course she'd done her research the night before, mining as much unfiltered gossip from drunk students as she could.

Amanda Evert. Anthropology major from the States doing a stint of study abroad. Brilliant, but a total cliché – a tattooed goth interested in the occult. She probably lit candles, read silly Latin incantations in cemeteries and believed in vampires. Like she belonged in an Anne Rice novel circa 1995.

When Lara found out about this supernatural nonsense, she'd drop Amanda in a heartbeat. She had no patience for metaphysics. "Bollocks" was always what the archaeology student muttered whenever Sam brought up the elemental powers of Queen Himiko, her supposed ancestor.

Speaking of Lara, she seemed surprised that Sam knew the blonde's name. The same went for Amanda.

Good.

Sam kept her hands busy as she prepared filter coffee for herself. Still, head cocked, she addressed the blonde, "Can I assume your full name is ' _Oh my God, Amanda, I'm coming_!'?"

The egg in Lara's fist shattered. The look on her face, it was as scrambled as the breakfast she was attempting to make – one part mortification, one part pure fury. She didn't seem to know what to say or do.

To see her rattled like that completely justified Sam's battle to get out of bed ten minutes earlier.

The film student grinned, "You are totally right about the walls being too thin, sweetie. I never realised it before."

Amanda took it all in her stride. She laughed. Then, for the first time she spoke, in a nondescript accent that suggested she was from California or one of those other states that was such a hodgepodge of people, no one dialect dominated.

Her smile was feline when she said, "Samantha Nishimura. I've heard a lot about you."

_What the hell did that mean?_

Amanda stood, went to Lara and soothed her lover by frenching her right there in the kitchen. That made clear who the top in their relationship was – as much as Sam didn't want to know.

At the same time, Amanda's fingers snaked over the brunette's abdomen and skirted the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. The action momentarily pushed aside fabric, exposing Lara's abs. Given how shy her flatmate was about showing skin, Sam hadn't realised until then how defined her stomach actually was.

The film student scowled. The whole performance was utterly shameless.

Still, it made the English girl shudder, and not with embarrassment. When Amanda broke from the kiss, Lara looked dazed. She also seemed to be incapable of speech.

_God, she was such a guy; waaay too easily manipulated through sex._

The fun went out of breakfast for Sam after that. Her hangover was back with a vengeance. Queasy again, she could only prod at her eggs and toast. She found herself fixating instead on the brutal hickey just above Lara's collarbone, and the scratches streaking her shoulders.

_Jesus, what had this witch done to her?_

* * *

It was the mid-afternoon before Amanda left. Although she and Lara had continued to be touchy-feely through the day, they hadn't disappeared for another mammoth screw session. Thank God for that.

They commandeered the lounge though – when all Sam wanted to do was flop on the couch and distract herself from her misery with shitty reality TV.

The girls weren't even watching the box. Instead, they were reclined on either end of the sofa, knees up on the cushions, facing each other, and having an animated discussion about the shamanistic practices of various world cultures, and the threads of similarity linking them.

Or something like that.

Just trying to follow the conversation made Sam's head pound as she sat sulking at the kitchen counter over coffee and Scene It! magazine.

Still, she couldn't help but eavesdrop.

Amanda was insisting on a shared underlying spiritual energy that enforced the beliefs of every pre-Modern Civilisation.

Lara snorted in response, "God, too much Joseph Campbell for you."

Sam had her back to the lounge but she could picture the archaeology student's sceptical, eye-rolling expression as she added, "What a load of rubbish. You would have got on smashingly with my father."

Fantastic. A stone in the shoe of contented coupledom already.

Amanda didn't sound offended though. She was laughing.

"I guess I'll have to make you a believer, Lara."

"Good luck with that."

"I think I know how to win you over to my way of thinking."

A pause.

Then Lara murmured, "Well, I like to think I'm open minded enough to consider other theories. Persuade me."

Listening to Lara Croft flirting was the most bizarre thing. The hopelessly shy, British boarding school graduate actually sounded smooth.

Amanda chuckled, "Oh, I intend to."

There was the sound of cushions shifting, and the pair went silent. It was at that point that Sam put her head in her hands.

* * *

After Amanda left – probably to go prepare for a demon summoning ceremony that evening – Lara bounded back into the room. The only time Sam ever saw her that exhilarated was when she was mid-monologue about the latest archaeological discoveries and theories.

The English girl grinned, "Isn't Amanda great?"

"I guess."

Lara was still so steeped in post-coital euphoria she didn't register the sullenness in her best friend's tone. Swinging her limbs like a sugar-buzzed toddler, she announced that she was off to have a nap, and disappeared into her room.

That left Sam alone, muttering into her fifth cup of coffee of the day.

She glared at the liquid as dark as her mood.

"Come back, Mai. All is forgiven."


	5. Chapter 5

The whole situation was fucked up.

Amanda – that damn succubus – was draining Sam's best friend. Killing her.

Because, within a few days of hooking up, Lara and the peroxide blonde were officially dating.

They were together; an actual hand-holding, latte-sharing, caught-shagging-on-the-couch couple.

That meant Lara had added a new ball to her already impressive – if ridiculous – juggling act. In addition to her studies, three part-time jobs and a rigid workout routine, there was now also a relationship to keep in the air.

And a sexually voracious relationship at that, if the sounds coming from Lara's room during Amanda's visits were any indication.

To fit everything in, the English girl siphoned a few extra hours from every day by sacrificing sleep. The result was that Lara was perpetually exhausted and frazzled. Despite the brunette's negative sentiments about them, Sam had actually seen her downing energy drinks to cope.

Lara looked worn out. She acted worn out. She'd snap at her flatmate and then be deeply apologetic about it seconds later.

The worst thing about the whole scenario though was that Sam couldn't really say anything. The person she'd normally unload onto was her best friend, and despite everything, Lara was just so happy. Sam hadn't realised how little the archaeology student smiled normally until she sported a distracted, goofy grin almost every day.

That said, the situation wasn't healthy. It prickled Sam like she was continually grating against a thorn bush. Her skin actually itched, to the point that she kept examining her arms for welts. The irritation just kept growing until eventually she couldn't take it anymore. Just as if there were tiny puncture marks in her skin, her frustration started to vent in short spurts every time she spoke to Lara. She knew what she was doing – how increasingly unreasonable and antagonistic she was being – but she couldn't stop herself.

It wasn't like she was subtle about it either. Even Lara, who was usually lost in the mammoth library and museum archives inside her head, noticed.

She brought it up during one of the increasingly rare evenings when the English girl was home without Amanda amoeba'd onto her crotch. The flatmates were eating Thai food together on the sofa. It was supposed to be a proper catch-up, but Sam was being sullen and uncommunicative.

After receiving her third conversation-killing yes or no in a row, Lara lowered her chopsticks.

She frowned, "What's the matter with you lately, Sam? You've been acting really strange."

"I'm surprised you even noticed."

That blasted the words from Lara's lips. Her mouth hung loose for a moment before she found her tongue again. "Do – do you have a problem with Amanda, Sam?"

"Who said that? Did _she_ say that?"

"No, but you've been offish since we got together."

Sam sighed her exasperation loudly. "I know you're new to this so perhaps you didn't get the memo. You're supposed to send them packing after you've screwed them, Lara. At least I always have the sense to do that."

The English girl stiffened. "That's not fair. I really like Amanda. She's the first girl I truly connect with. Intellectually."

Sam had no idea how much that would sting. She blinked like she had been slapped. It actually felt like it too.

She sniped back, "Right, of course. Because I'm far too stupid for you."

"I didn't say that. Christ! Amanda is the first girl that I can be wi– want to be with."

Defensiveness had started to set into Lara's posture and expression. Sam knew she was treading into dangerous territory. She just didn't care.

Petulant, the American girl muttered, "You can talk to me, you know."

"About ancient history?" Lara snorted, "Please, Sam. You just keep bringing up Indiana Jones, and archaeology isn't like that at all."

"Try me."

"No." Instantly, the anger drained from Lara. She looked disappointed instead; sad.

Defeated.

"You said you wanted this for me, Sam; that you were totally fine with everything. Now it's clear you aren't."

The English girl stood.

Sam looked up at her, "Where are you going?"

"A walk. I need some fresh air to clear my head."

* * *

So Sam was losing her best friend.

Amanda was winning Lara over with slutty magic. And, when Sam was being brutally honest with herself, she could acknowledge that she was doing her bit simultaneously to push away the most important person in her life.

Lara, already emotionally vulnerable, was positioned between two magnets – subjected to the combined force of Amanda's attraction and Sam's repulsion. It was obvious what direction she would move.

That left Sam miserable. Drinking, partying, hooking up – all of her usual distractions aside from her studies – refused to lift her mood. Sex had been especially soured since, at the same moment she was fumbling with his fly, her equally drunken partner for that night slurred, "Hey, your roommate is that Lara Croft, right? You know, Amanda's bird. Any chance of a threesome there?"

Sam was sober, solo and fuming a few seconds later.

She could recognise that she'd become a slave to her insecurities. And she hated the shift. She'd always been the socially confident one – the lightbulb when others were moths. Overnight though she'd become clingy and irrational. One night, when her fears of losing Lara were at a pinnacle, she even burst into her flatmate's room, blurting, "Are you going to move in with her?"

It was almost 2am, but Lara was awake and sitting at her desk, frantically pulling an all-nighter to finish a paper due the following morning.

The English girl startled at the interruption, and then scowled, "What the Hell, Sam? I don't have time for this right now."

The film student wasn't going to be side-tracked from her purpose. "Well, are you?"

"We've been seeing each other for _a month_."

"Isn't that an eternity for lesbians? Shouldn't you be engaged by now? Or getting a cat together at least."

Lara slammed shut the book open before her. "This is stupid, Sam. You're my best friend. She's my girlfriend. They are quite different things."

The American couldn't help herself. "Are they? It's different when it's just girls."

Lara rolled her decidedly bloodshot eyes as she reached for another bulky text. "They are to me."

Then she muttered, "Now get out. You know full well how I feel about you just barging in here. We can talk about this tom–" She grimaced as she noted the display on her phone. " – later today, alright, if it's still bothering you. But right now I really need to get this done. I have to get a first if I'm going to keep my scholarship."

* * *

It was clear that Sam couldn't talk to Lara about things. But there was nothing stopping her if she wanted to confront Amanda.

The film student simply had to wait for the right moment.

That moment arrived the very next evening.

Lara's assignment was done, so Amanda was staying over. There were no moans coming from the bedroom though – the all-nighter had clearly caught up with the English girl. When Sam peeked around the door, she found Lara fully dressed and fast asleep, with her head cushioned in Amanda's lap. The blonde was gazing down on her girlfriend's face, and tenderly stroking her hair.

Amanda's head shot up then. Her eyes fixed on spying Sam, and her disconcerting, feline smile returned.

Sam tried to ignore it. She whispered, "Can we talk?"

Surprisingly obedient, the goth slipped out from under Lara. The English girl frowned and muttered something in her sleep as she lost her pillow; but was immediately placated with a kiss on the cheek.

Amanda murmured, "I'll be right back, babe."

_Babe._

Sam was doing her damndest to be civil about everything – she intended to express her concerns calmly – but hearing Amanda use her own term of endearment for Lara, caused the film student to bristle. She gritted her teeth.

In the passageway, Amanda sighed, "She's exhausted."

It was a completely unnecessary explanation, as if Sam didn't know what was up with her best friend.

_Zen, Nishimura. Find your fucking zen._

The film student replied, "Yeah, Lara's under a lot of strain at the moment."

"Well I like to think I help relieve a lot of that when she's under me."

_Soooo did not need that image…_

Sam sucked in a breath. "I'm going to get straight to the point, Amanda."

The blonde crossed her arms. "Ah, I was wondering when this was going to come up. Lara said you two have been fighting."

_Fantastic. Confiding in the succubus over her BFF already._

Sam felt her fists clench.

"Well," Amanda smirked. "Are you going to ask me what my intentions are?"

Actually that was a great question, but Sam didn't want to give the goth girl the satisfaction of identifying one of her major concerns. She stuck to the script she had outlined in her head.

"You may have realised this, Amanda, but I don't like you."

"Well, the feeling is mutual, Samantha."

The return volley was so swift that the film student almost missed it. She blinked, and continued, "You're not good for Lara. And she's – she's too good for you."

Amanda shrugged, "Maybe. But she's definitely too good for you, Sam."

The film student faltered. "What? This has nothing to do with me."

"You'd be surprised. Lara is special, I'm sure you know that. She's going to do incredible things."

"You see that in your cauldron?"

Amanda's eyes blazed but her smug smile held. "Lara is special. And, quite simply, you are not."

Sam scrambled for a comeback, but only turned up empty palms.

Amanda continued, "You've been able to monopolise her for a long time; holding her back from her true potential. But those days are over."

The blonde cocked her head and carried on. "Do you know what her greatest fear is, Sam?"

"I – "

Actually, she didn't.

"She's afraid that she'll never make her own mark. That she'll pass through life simply as Richard Croft's daughter; the inconsequential, indistinct offspring of an icon. The last Croft: A disappointment."

"That's not true. That will never be true." Sam was confident about this at least. "Lara's gifted. She's – "

"Exceptional," Amanda finished for her. "You can recognise it even now. But she'll never be who she's meant to be if she's always dropping everything to be your personal superhero. Or sidekick, depending on how big your ego is that day."

Sam frowned. She didn't have a denial.

Amanda pushed on with her advantage. "Don't tell me you haven't thought this for a long time, deep down?"

The only thing Sam could do was half-heartedly return to her original argument.

She muttered, "You're using Lara."

Amanda guffawed. " _I'm_ using her? Look in a mirror. It must be strange not having her running after you anymore; doing anything you tell her because she cares so much about you. You do realise that right; how much you mean to her?"

_Lara cares about me?_

The blonde prodded Sam in the chest. "Not always having someone there to save your spoiled ass; what's that like?"

"Don't touch me."

Amanda sneered, and ignored the impotent threat. "It's time for you to grow up, Sam. Step aside. For Lara's sake."

"So you can step right in, instead?"

"All I want to do is show Lara the vastness of her capabilities. I can guide her. Together we can change the world; bridge universes."

That New Age nonsense deserved an incredulous cackle. "Good luck with that, Amanda."

It felt good to be bitchy right back. Sam felt more like herself, and it was massively satisfying to shatter the blonde's shit-eating grin.

Not to mention her shield of self-assurance.

Amanda snapped, "Lara deserves to have someone care about her – actually care for her – for once."

"I care about her."

"Of course you do." The goth's words dripped sarcasm like a pitch-black syrup.

"My friendship is not up for scrutiny."

"What do you do for her, Sam? One thing. Tell me."

The film student knew she didn't have to respond, but she felt compelled to defend herself. If only it wasn't so damn difficult to come up with a decent answer, though.

Sam winced, "I – I make her tea when she's sick in bed. I bought her brownies a few weeks ago when she was having a bad day. And two months ago, I helped her egg the car of a professor who was giving her shit."

Amanda snorted. "Sounds pretty much like nothing to me. Because you're selfish. The way you see it, you're the centre of the universe, and Lara orbits around you."

Sam didn't know why, but that image tipped her over the emotional edge. Her chest shuddered at the exact same instant tears sparked in her eyes.

The blonde jeered, "The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

Sam lost it. All her dignity. All her self-control. She roared, "Fuck off, Amanda!"

She shoved at the goth girl. And then shouldered past her as she fled to her room.

Behind her she could hear Amanda hiss, "Stop confusing her, Sam."

Inside her bedroom, the future filmmaker burst into tears. She dropped onto the edge of her bed, and tried to stifle her sobs with her palms.

Her chest and throat ached – an immediate physical response to the barbed truth she'd been forced to ingest.

Amanda was right.

If Sam was the Earth, Lara was the moon. But the comparison ran deeper than the blonde probably realised. Like the moon, Lara was more than a simple satellite running the same course unthinkingly over and over. Like the moon, she provided stability; kept tides in check. Without the moon, it would be catastrophe for the planet.

Without Lara, Sam's world would end.


	6. Chapter 6

After the confrontation, well, Sam knew she didn't exactly handle the situation well.

Translation: All maturity went out the window.

She was desperate. She was scared. And, as much as she hated to admit it, Amanda was right. Sam was selfish. The blonde's words continually echoed in the film student's skull. And they were as effective as a leg sweep whenever Sam built up the courage to take action in any adult way.

So she hobbled around, avoiding Amanda, and stumbling horribly whenever she had the opportunity to talk to Lara alone.

It should have been easy to tell her best friend how much she meant to her; how pivotal the English girl was in her life – after all, Lara must have known that – but Sam could never get the words out. Instead, whenever she opened her mouth, her tongue evidently turned to sandpaper. All she was capable of was instantly grating the most important person in her life.

Sam had actually initiated the most recent discussion with "She's bisexual, Lara. Jess in my acting class told me."

It was late Thursday afternoon, after classes, and the archaeology student was in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. Her head snapped up at her flatmate's words. Her voice was as ominously sharp as the action that preceded it.

"And what's that got to do with anything?"

Sam hadn't expected the need to provide an explanation. She fumbled around for one.

"She – She's fickle. She's having her fun with you now, but she'll move on; rush straight back to guys as soon as she has a craving for cock."

Lara scowled in response. "And what if I'm bisexual, Sam? Hmm? Does that awful stereotype apply to me too? Am I just messing around, using women as a nice safe stopgap until some better guy comes along?"

"No. Of course not."

"So how am I different?

"Because you're… you." _You're too decent a person to ever use anyone like that._

Jaw clenched, Lara rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "You don't like Amanda. I get that. But I do. A _lot_." She fixed her gaze once more on her best friend. "So just… deal with it."

"But – "

"I'm _done_ talking about this. Do you understand?"

Throat quivering, defeated, Sam nodded.

* * *

_Deal with it._

That was what Sam tried to do.

No more moping; no more teenage hysterics.

She was going to reclaim who she was. Sam Nishimura: Good time girl.

So that evening she went out clubbing – on her own to make a point to herself that no matter where she was, or who she was with, she was a magnet for fun.

And it was working. In her favourite figure-hugging confidence dress – demure up top but cut to spotlight her legs – she turned heads. Her personality kept those same heads turned.

Even before she started on the cocktails and alcopops, she felt fantastic.

Back on top of the world.

After a good few hours of dancing, drinking, sharing Facebook details and posing for selfies sandwiched between assorted cute guys, she felt that she had achieved her objective.

_With a fucking A-plus, Nishimura._ Those over-achieving Japanese genes kicked in in the weirdest ways.

She blew some kisses, hugged a few people and started towards the club entrance.

Away from the main dance floor, the two-storey venue became a series of passageways, chill areas and bar alcoves. The same secondary spaces were also slightly better insulated against the thudding music, so it was easier to chat. And get intimate in other ways too.

Sam had just entered the labyrinth when she heard a voice behind her.

"Hey?"

The American girl turned.

It was the gym bro who had been hovering at her elbow all evening. Troy, or Trey, or Trev, or something like that. Stuffed into a maroon satin button-up, he was huge; built like a linebacker. She'd joked a few times with him over whether he was an extra in The Expendables.

He caught up with her. "Where are you going?"

"Oh," she smiled, still feeling the goofy affability that only alcohol could trigger. "It's been fun, but I'm off."

"That's not how it works, love." The way his lips curled as he murmured it, triggered alarm bells.

Sam felt her grin tighten. "I'm sorry?"

"I must have bought you about five drinks tonight."

"Um, yeah."

"So…" He bounced his eyebrows. "How about a little payback?"

Sam almost slipped and let the wave of disgust breach on her face. _What a dick!_

She had to keep things light and cheery though. Trey was definitely not someone to aggravate. So she chuckled, "Uh, how about a rain check? You give me your number and – "

"That won't work for me." His hand came up and skimmed her cheek.

Sam hopped back, instantly sober. "Woah there."

The brute swaggered forward too, closing the gap between them. His leer was predatory. "Come on, you'll enjoy it."

"Uh, I don't think so."

Sam attempted to dart away.

No such luck. His ham of a fist closed around her bicep and she was swung backwards into the wall. It wasn't brutal. She wasn't hurt or winded. The manoeuvre was simply designed to highlight her physical impotence. He wanted her to feel like there was nothing she could do to resist him.

Well, that was just _one_ of the things he wanted her to feel.

He pressed his body flush against hers, pinning her.

Her revulsion escaped as a hissed "Jesus."

Evidently he misinterpreted her reaction as astonishment. His grin broadened and he rippled his hips against hers.

Sam swallowed. Nobody in the passageway was paying the slightest bit of attention to the assault – she and her unwanted beau must have looked like any young couple in the early stages of hooking up. Getting out of the nightmare would be entirely up to her. And it would require a little acting and a fuck-ton of charisma.

Trey dipped his head. Sam turned her face from his, but he wasn't deterred. She could feel his lips and stubble – even the tip of his tongue – trace over her jawline.

She cringed at the sensation, which was accompanied by the stench of vodka. The smell was so strong she found herself wondering if he'd used a bottle of Absolut as cologne for the evening. It burnt her nostrils.

Trey made another sloppy swipe at her mouth, which she just managed to jerk away from.

For an instant, she thought about kneeing him. It might give her a shot at escape. However, there were no bouncers to leap behind, and as veteran as she was running in heels, she wasn't sure she could make it out the door before he caught up with her.

Plus, there was nothing like a hit to the groin to enrage an ogre.

Trey pressed in a third time. Sam's reflexes activated, and she blocked his kiss with a fingertip.

Time to win that Oscar.

"Hold your horses, big boy," she cooed. "We're going to have so much fun… but first, nature calls."

It seemed to take forever for Trey's brain to process the comment, like it was running Snow Leopard on 250 megs of RAM.

Eventually though, he retreated a step.

Sam flashed him a coy, shoulders-shrugged smile. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

He didn't grab her again, but if she thought ye olde restroom escape would work, she was wrong. Trey shadowed her to the out-of-the-way bathroom, and positioned himself, arms crossed, about ten feet from the door. Her unwanted bodyguard.

Inside the ladies' room, Sam realised she was shaking. She attempted to rub the tremors from her arms, while taking a few steadying breaths.

Then she waited, trying it ignore the pale, miserable girl looking back at her from the mirror.

Ten minutes passed before she dared a scouting mission. She pushed the door open a crack and peeked out.

Glazed eyes were waiting for her.

She dipped back inside the bathroom, and masochistically banged the back of her skull against the wood.

"Shit."

She felt awful about it but she'd hoped another pretty girl would have snared his attention during her absence – and he'd clean forget about her.

No such luck.

Clearly he had his heart set on Japanese.

_Fuck these guys and their Asian girl fetish. And fuck her amazing legs for luring them in._

She scowled. How could such a great evening go so horribly wrong?

She waited another ten minutes. Then she asked the next girl who entered her sanctuary if a big guy was loitering outside. He was.

Sam wondered if Trey would lose patience, barge into the restroom and haul her out.

Alternatively, she wondered if she could out-wait him. Did she have it in her to skulk in the claustrophobic little safe haven until closing time?

She was trapped, and she was out of ideas.

Her fingers dove into her clutch purse.

* * *

Five rings and then that beautiful, always ever-so-slightly-breathless voice answered – lilting up with worry the same way it always did.

"Sam?"

"Lara!"

"What is it?"

The relief of knowing that her best friend was there, and listening, melted straight through the fear that had frozen Sam. She started to quake again, and she knew it reflected in her voice.

"Lara, please. I need you."

An exasperated sigh. "I'm out with Amanda. Can't you sort yourself out for once?"

"I'm scared." With the ice wall melted, her emotions rushed out all at once, like a mountain river after the first Spring thaw. She started babbling, "There's this guy, and he won't leave me alone, and he's really big, and he followed me to the ladies, and – "

"What?!"

"– he's outside. And I tried to talk my way out of it, but it didn't work. He's waiting and I'm trapped in here. And, and I don't know what to do."

She began sobbing.

"Lara, I'm scared. I'm _so scared_!"

Silence.

"Lara, pleeeeease."

Silence.

Sam felt her stomach sink. It retreated from her like she was standing in a moving elevator. She'd done it; she'd actually done it – the past few weeks of bitchiness and tantrums had pushed away her best friend for good.

She pressed her face into her palm and continued to hiccup with grief.

Three clipped words. "Where are you?"

In the background of the call, Sam could hear Amanda's strident voice. "Lara!"

The English student ignored her girlfriend.

"Sam, where are you?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, a familiar shaggy ponytail and jacket-hoodie combo marched into the restroom.

"Lara!"

Sam flung her arms around her friend. "Oh my God, thank you, thank you, thank you…"

The hug was one-sided. Lara didn't respond. She remained rigid in stance and expression. Her eyes scanned over her companion, evidently checking that she was in no way hurt. That swift assessment complete, she seized Sam's hand and strode for the door.

She didn't say a word.

It was a struggle for Sam to keep up. As willing as she was to get out of there, she was practically being dragged.

Trey was still there, leaning against the wall. He perked up at the sight of the two young women heading towards him.

"What's this?" he chuckled as he stepped into the centre of the corridor, effectively blocking the girls' escape route.

Lara jolted to a stop before him. Her voice was as clipped as it had been on the phone.

"Get out my way."

Trey's gaze travelled from Lara's face, along her arm to where she clutched Sam's palm in hers.

That sparked an even bigger grin. "Hey, I'm all up for sharing, little lady."

"Move."

"What's the hurry?"

Lara's jaw clenched. Actually, all her muscles did. Sam winced. The filmmaker was losing feeling in her crushed fingers.

As drunk as he was, the ogre registered Lara's animosity. He simply didn't take it seriously.

He shrugged, "Hey now, look; maybe we got off on the wrong foot. The last thing I want is to upset two hotties like yourselves."

He swaggered forward. His gaze traced the cut of Lara's v-neck top and shamelessly disappeared down her cleavage.

"Mmmm," he mused out loud. "So bang tidy."

Sam could feel the atmosphere change. The air sharpened tangibly, like it did just before a storm. She was ready to run. In fact, she tugged on her friend's arm.

Lara, of course, was impossible to move. Her attention was entirely focused on Sam's unwanted suitor.

"Come on now, love." Trey loomed over the English girl.

Sam noted how the archaeology student had to crane her neck to continue looking him in the face.

He was huge; Lara wasn't. If she got hurt, Sam would never forgive herself.

"Lara…" the film student whimpered.  
 _What had she done?_

Her best friend responded by releasing Sam's hand and shielding the American girl behind her body. She continued to glare at Trey.

The big man was undeterred. "I know something that will put a smile on that pretty face."

With one finger he reached out to brush a clump of hair away from Lara's cheek.

Sam wasn't sure what happened next.

There was simply a split-second of realisation that it was Trey she should have been worried for all along.

He was an obnoxious six year old poking at a leopard through zoo bars. And that scene always ended with the brat in tears.

True to trope, it was Trey, and not Lara, who stumbled backwards.

Clutching his hand, he was yelling, "Fuck, fuck! You broke it. You broke my finger, you fucking cunt!"

Lara didn't move. Her demeanour was ice as she observed him.

Sam simply gaped at her protector. She knew Lara Croft as a sweet dorky girl with a thing for books and Jaffa Cakes. She was quiet, amiable and unassuming. The woman protecting the film student was someone else – the personification of cool power and control.

Anger transformed her. Or revealed something that always been there, hiding. She was an old school photograph waiting to be dipped in processing chemicals.

It frightened Sam, but at the same time it also awed her. Lara Croft in Alpha mode was just so… incredibly sexy.

Right then, the young American would trot behind her friend forever as a drooling fangirl.

Sam didn't have a chance to pursue the thought further. Although there had been none in sight when she was in trouble, a squad of bouncers appeared. The girls were summarily ejected from the club.

* * *

Sam had wanted to thank her hero during the taxi ride home. However, after two attempts, she gave up. Lara refused to engage with her, or even acknowledge her presence.

Instead, the English girl sat silent and fuming. She had her phone clutched in her hand and she glared at it throughout the trip.

Sam supposed she should feel lucky that she wasn't on the receiving end of that look – her skin probably would have blistered. Several times, the screen lit up with a message notification or incoming call. Lara dismissed every single one.

* * *

Inside the flat, Sam tried again – well aware that she was basically clipping bomb wires colour blind.

She started stammering while the brunette was still hanging up her jacket in the hallway. "Lara, than– thank you. You– you saved me. Seriously. You have no idea what – "

The English girl spun around. "Amanda and I had a huge fight."

"Oh, babe, I'm so sorry."

The bomb exploded.

"No! You're not sorry."

The temper Lara had been holding in hit Sam like a shockwave, peppering her with shrapnel shards.

"Amanda is right about one thing, Sam, and that's how bloody selfish you are. You never think about anyone but yourself."

"I – "

"Christ, did you know we were out celebrating our three month anniversary?"

After refusing to talk to her, suddenly Lara wouldn't let her friend get a single word in.

"You know I'll do anything for you, Sam, _anything_ , and you take advantage of that. I just can't – " Her voice cracked. "Fuck!"

The archaeology student tilted her head back in a desperate attempt to stop liquid racing down her face.

Seeing Lara so upset sparked reflex tears in Sam's eyes.

She didn't know what to say.

Both quivering with emotion, the two girls just stared at each other.

Eventually Lara sighed, "I'm so tired. Of all this."

"Babe…" Sam reached for the English girl.

"No!" Lara jerked backwards. She turned her head from Sam at the same instant she raised her arm as a barrier. "Just stay away. Please. I am _so_ angry right now. I – I need to be alone."

With that, she stomped off to her room.

Sam remained where she was for several minutes. _Fuck My Life_ seemed too light and jokey to encapsulate how she felt at that moment. Things just kept getting worse and worse.

She wanted her friendship with Lara to be back the way it used to be. She wanted their boozy nights out together, where they ended up stumbling from the tube station together in hysterics; tripping over everything in their path. She missed their assorted holiday misadventures, as a frazzled Lara eventually gave up on her carefully planned itinerary.

Most of all, Sam craved the quieter everyday moments they used to share: things like making mediocre dinners together while they discussed their day; quizzing each other around exam time; and playing drinking games on the couch during movie nights. Then there were all the hugs on bad days and good.

Normally it was Sam who was prone to outbursts. That evening though she was too emotionally exhausted. She felt hollow inside.

_I'm tired too, Lara._

Robotically, the film student removed her make-up, took a much needed shower, and crawled into bed with the ridiculous octopus plushie that normally squatted on top of her wardrobe. At some point she dozed off, clutching the toy tightly to her chest.

* * *

Sam was woken by a pounding on the front door.

_Seriously?_

It was too early on a Sunday morning.

She pulled the comforter over her head. Lara would get it. She was always up crazy early.

The knocking persisted.

"Jesus. Alright."

Sam flung back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Considering she hadn't drunk that much the night before, she felt hungover. Her head was hammering worse than that annoying fist against painted wood.

She glanced at her phone before forcing herself upright. 9:10am.

Definitely too early for a UK Sunday.

Sam staggered through the living area.

"I'm coming, I'm coming…"

She was halfway through unbolting the door when she remembered it was probably a good idea to check who it was first.

She pressed her eye to the peephole.

Amanda.

Sam grimaced. She could tell it was going to be a fantastic day.

Sighing, she opened the door.

The blonde barged in, knocking into Sam as she shouldered past. "Where the Hell is she?"

Sam rubbed her arm. "Good morning to you too."

The response was a sneer and an eye roll. "Lara. Where is she?"

"What?" That was the weirdest question.

Amanda didn't wait for a helpful response. She strode for the bedrooms.

Sam was slowed by her headache and uncooperative body but she did her best to keep up.

She was standing at the mouth of the passageway when Amanda flung open the door to Sam's room.

"Hey!" the film student barked. She was trying to keep her temper in check for her migraine's sake, but the invasion of privacy scuppered her plans.

"What the fuck, Amanda?! Why would she be in there?"

The goth girl's eyes narrowed and Sam found herself on the receiving end of a laser-targeted death glare.

The blonde didn't respond. She simply scurried to her girlfriend's door, and started a fresh round of hammering.

"Lara! Stop ignoring me."

No response.

"Fine. You want to be childish, then so will I." She seized the handle. "We need to talk, whether you want to or –"

The door swung inwards.

Amanda's face blanched even more than usual. She stepped inside.

Sam followed right behind.

As much as they hated each other, the girls shared an anxious glance.

Lara's phone was switched off and sitting on her desk, next to her laptop. Her running shoes, gym bag and archery case were all in their usual spots.

Lara Croft, though, was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

It had taken some detective work to find her. Even her grizzly bear of a boss at the Nine Bells didn't know where she was – Lara had simply called and cancelled all her upcoming shifts, explaining that she had some personal issues to resolve.

Still, Sam wasn't worried about darker possibilities in regards to her best friend's disappearance. The English girl enjoyed dropping off the grid – stomping off into the Wilds of No Wi-fi and Mountains Sans Mobile Reception. She would never self-harm in a million years. When life kicked Lara Croft, she took the hit but got up every single time. Even if her limbs were quivering. Even if she was hurt and bleeding.

That didn't mean, however, that she was above crawling into a cave to lick her wounds.

Which was exactly why Sam knew where to find her.

One phone call confirmed it.

* * *

Fall was further advanced in the countryside than London. The air was even crisper than the leaves under her feet. Sam was glad she'd worn her Winter coat for this particular expedition.

And there, up ahead, was her objective – sitting hunched on a mammoth tree root.

Lara's posture stiffened with awareness as her friend approached, but she didn't turn around. So Sam was able to bridge the gap between them without being subjected to any death glares. She stopped three feet behind Lara, and folded her arms.

"You know, I couldn't figure out what a clean-cut English girl would see in someone like Amanda. But brooding out in the cold in front of your parents' graves; now I get it."

"Winston," Lara hissed. "That turncloak."

"He's worried about you. We all are."

"Hmmph," was the sulked response. "Winston I believe. Others I'm not so sure about."

That prodded a nerve. "Lara, God."

The archaeology student glanced over her shoulder then. She muttered, "What is it, Sam? I said I wanted to be alone."

"Well, tough." The film student uncrossed her arms and plonked herself down next to her friend. "Like I said, I'm worried about you."

Lara scrutinised her companion's face, evidently trying to gauge Sam's honesty.

The American girl thought she was in the clear – she was being 100% sincere – but clearly the wattage of her smile wasn't enough to dissipate all her friend's doubts.

The clouds rushed back, and Lara's face crumpled.

She seized her temples in clawed fingers, and growled at her thighs, "Why can't I just be straight? Blokes are so much simpler. They just want a shag. Women go out of their way to mess with your head."

"I'm not messing with you."

Lara swung her face back to her best friend. "I'm so tired, Sam. I can't keep both you and Amanda happy on top of everything else. You're always sniping at each other and I feel like a chess piece played by both sides."

She looked so anguished. And, like she said, exhausted. Sam felt terrible.

"Babe…"

Lara's gaze panned to the stone slab before her. "I sometimes wonder how different things would be if they were still alive. How different I would be."

"You mean, would you…?"

"Would I be _broken?_ "

As much as she intended to be entirely placatory – a Shiba puppy presenting her belly in submission – Sam couldn't stop her outburst. "Lara, you're not broken. Jesus, I never took you for someone who enjoyed wading about in self-loathing. You like girls, big whoop. I like cheesecake. You think if your parents were around you'd be Little Miss Straight and Narrow? It doesn't work like that."

Lara responded with her own tirade – directed at herself. "For once in my life, why can't things be easy? Just once! That's all I ask. This situation, right now, I don't know what to do…"

"Of course you do. You get up and you keep going. Like you always have. Like you always will." Sam switched to a terrible gravel-throated Roth impression. "You're a Croft!"

The impersonation prodded a miniscule smile from Lara. It also seemed to double as a life raft in her personal ocean of misery. She went silent for a moment, and Sam could practically see her clambering on board.

Eventually the English girl spoke again. Calmer this time. "Why do you hate her so much?"

_Aww, crap. Truth time._

Sam tried to delay the confession. "Uh, who?"

Lara always gave the best brow raise.

The American girl sighed, "Because she's actually right about a lot of things. I have been selfish, and I've taken you for granted. And right now I'm scared of the very real possibility of losing you."

"What?!" Lara looked genuinely surprised by the admission. "Sam, the plan was always for us to face the future together; have adventures; make our mark side by side. _Us_. Me being with Amanda doesn't change that."

"Doesn't it?"

Lara shook her head vehemently. "Not at all. You're my best friend. You – you're the most important person in my life."

Hearing Lara say it, well, it felt like the sun had just dawned in Sam's chest. Heat radiated out from her centre. In her exuberance, she seized her companion's arm.

"And you're mine, Lara."

"So please stop with the fighting and ridiculous tests of my loyalty. You know what you mean to me." Lara took a deep breath. "I…" She fumbled over her words. "…I love you."

The archaeology student's head dipped as her cheeks coloured. "Sorry, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. That probably sounds weird coming from me now."

"What's that? You're _coming_?"

That earned the American girl an elbow jab in the ribs.

"Gods, Sam!" Lara chortled, as her face darkened from guava to watermelon.

The film student laughed back. Then she slipped an arm around her friend's shoulders, and hugged her tight against her side. "I love you too, roomie. And I promise I'll try to play nice with Amanda. I know what she means to you."

"You mean that? You will try?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

The girls sat in silence for a few minutes longer. Lara had slipped back into a state of melancholy contemplation. She gazed ahead – but not blindly, Sam noted.

With her free hand, the American girl reached out and brushed hair away from Lara's face. She murmured, "You still really miss them, don't you?"

Lara nodded.

"Do you want mine?"

That squeezed a wry smile from the young Englishwoman. "No thanks. Your dad would be fine but you can keep your mum."

Of course Lara would get on better with reticent Japanese businessman than a high-life-loving Portuguese model.

Sam wove her fingers through her friend's, and found it was like clasping popsicles.

"Babe, you're freezing!"

"Oh."

That was typical Lara. When she was in her head, she could completely shut out her body's needs and sensations. That combined with her freakish Croft constitution made her tough as nails. There were times when Sam wondered if her best friend was actually an android sent back from the future; or some sleeper agent superhero waiting for an activation word that wasn't simply her name wailed by Sam.

Lara had been sitting outside for hours in nothing but jeans, boots and her favourite jacket – which wasn't nearly well insulated enough for the weather.

Sam made an effort to lift her companion, and surprisingly succeeded. Lara was clearly in a cooperative mood. She confirmed it with one of her soft smiles.

"Thank you, Sam."

The film student shrugged off the gratitude. After her behaviour the past few months, she didn't feel she deserved it.

She simply gave Lara a fresh hug. "Come on, let's get you back. Winston was prepping hot chocolate when I left."

"And a big plate of Jaffa Cakes, I hope?"

"I am positive there'll be Jaffa Cakes."

With an arm around each other, the young women began their trek to the Manor.


	8. Chapter 8

After the graveside conversation, things returned to some form of normality.

Of course, Sam still had to frequently bite her tongue and divert her eyes whenever Amanda came around.

It started the instant Lara returned to London. Reunited, the blonde welcomed her lover back with a tonsil-tickling kiss before exclaiming how cold the English girl felt, and hauling her off to the shower.

Sam had rapidly ferreted out the most brain-sapping activity she could think of when that happened. She really didn't want to imagine what form the girls' mutual apology was taking just then under the spray. All that slick, slippery flesh…

Still, winces and dry heaves aside, Sam was working really hard not to antagonise her best friend and her girlfriend. Amanda couldn't have given a shit either way, but Lara clearly appreciated Sam's efforts. The film student was back to regularly receiving Lara's soft smiles. And with the strain between best friends removed, the brunette seemed more relaxed; happier – Lara the puppy instead of Lara the bristling panther.

So things were okay.

At least between the flatmates.

* * *

It was a Thursday afternoon, and Sam was splayed out on her bed, grappling with a particularly uncooperative script for her screenwriting class.

She heard the front door open, and glanced at her phone clock. Nothing unusual – Lara was back at her usual time. What was unusual though was her raised voice, tinted with exasperation.

"I can't just drop everything, Amanda."

A snippy response. "Why not?"

"Because it's the middle of the semester, and I have responsibilities."

"Seriously?"

Sam froze; conflicted. Despite the vein of malice that remained deep within her, like a seam of glinting opal waiting to be mined, she really didn't want to listen to Lara and Amanda. It was a huge invasion of their privacy, likely to plunge the film student back into scalding trouble. However, getting up to shut the bedroom door would alert the already angry pair to her presence.

So Sam did nothing.

She heard Lara dump her backpack in the lounge. Loudly. Clearly with extra force.

"You're asking me to essentially drop out of uni, Amanda; throw away everything I've been working towards, and bugger off to Peru with you. For what again exactly?"

"The opportunity of a lifetime."

"You can't really believe that tosh?" Lara snorted. "Pre-Incan daises, portals and planar beings…"

"My old Stanford professor specifically reached out to me – to us – about this. We're top of his assistants' list. If we accept, we'll be first in there; it'll be our names attached to every find. Don't you see how huge this is?"

Silence.

"Lara, this is a chance to rewrite history; make that mark you're always going on about."

"What it _is_ is a chance to erase all that distance I put between myself and my father. I'll be a laughing stock just like he was."

Amanda sounded incredulous. "You're actually going to turn it down? It's a one-time offer."

"I am aware of that."

"Just so you know, I'm going. No matter what."

"I'm not in the least surprised."

That response struck deep, and tapped Amanda's true nature. The blonde hissed, "What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"

Sam's flatmate remained silent, refusing to prod the cobra.

"I can't believe you, Lara. Wiping up spilled pints and vomit is really more important than this? Trying to please stodgy old academics who just sit there in their comfy offices, completely leeched of ambition decades ago?"

"I can't go, Amanda."

The way the brunette over-enunciated every syllable – Sam knew that tone. Right then a snake was dancing before a very pissed off leopard.

If the goth girl had any sense, she would back off immediately.

Amanda changed tactic at least. Her voice softened. "Lara, I need you. Together we'll –"

"I. Can't."

Dead quiet from Amanda this time.

When she spoke again, her words were as clipped as her girlfriend's. "I see. All this time, your reputation was more important than me."

The archaeology student didn't miss a beat. "All this time, your career was more important than me."

"Fuck you, Lara Croft!"

Even as Amanda's cool fractured, Lara stood unmoved on the ice. Her flatmate could imagine her eyes narrowing. "And you called Sam selfish?"

At the mention of her name, Sam's heart started hammering. _Holy shit._ She really didn't want to be imbedded in their argument, but God it felt good to hear Lara 100% on her side.

Amanda, meanwhile, exploded again at the name drop. "Fuck her too. I hope you two are very happy together."

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

Another patch of quiet. It couldn't have lasted more than twenty seconds but to Sam it felt like an hour.

Amanda had clearly used the time to fling the serpent back into a sack. She sighed loudly, "I guess that's it then?"

"I guess so."

"This is your last chance."

"I'm not a fan of ultimatums, Amanda."

A pleading redirect. "Lara, please...Think about what this means."

The archaeology student was unyielding. Sam could imagine her aristocratic brow arch activating in that instant. "You're expecting me to stop you?"

"I expected you to grow a pair," Amanda snapped back, as vicious as an elastic band. "But I see now that will never happen. Christ, you disappoint me. Everything you could accomplish…"

There was the scuffling sound of motion before the goth girl piped up again. Her voice was softer though, as she evidently began retreating to the front door.

"Fortune – _History_ – favours the bold. That adage is always true. So just remember, when they've forgotten you, they'll still know my name."

Lara grumbled, "Fame is the last thing I've ever wanted."

"Whatever. You could be this badass adventurer archaeologist, changing the rules of the game – changing everything we know! But you're not her. You're not even your father. At least he stood up for what he believed in instead of nodding along with his sheep peers."

Sam sat up, shocked.

_Jesus, Amanda, low blow._

The blonde bitch continued, "You're a coward, Lara Croft. Call me when you're ready to actually do something with your life."

With that, the door slammed.

And Lara was two for two in terms of ending things in the entrance hall.

* * *

Sam waited five minutes. She had expected Lara to retreat to her room, or at least head to the kitchen for that great British solution to any emotional setback: a cup of tea. But there was no movement; no sound. The film student may as well have been home alone.

Finally, Sam dared a scouting mission.

At the end of the passageway she peeked out. Lara was just standing there in the middle of the lounge, looking like she was lost.

Her head shot up at Sam's arrival.

"You heard all that?" The English girl didn't sound angry. She didn't sound much of anything, really. Her response was robotic; jittery.

"Um, some of it," Sam lied. "I didn't mean to."

Lara shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

It was a stupid question, but as a best friend, Sam had to ask it anyway. "Are you okay, babe?"

Lara rubbed at the callouses on her palm. "I, uh, I think Amanda and I just broke up."

For months, Sam had been ready to pop the champagne and punch the air with a loud "Hell, yeah."

But the stunned look on Lara's face…

The English girl's chin dipped to her chest. Her shoulders hunched and she began to shake. Her hand found her face and then she started to sob.

And Sam had thought furious Lara Croft was frightening. Lara Croft in tears was so much worse.

"Oh, sweetie, no."

Sam rushed forward and swallowed her friend in an embrace. She spent the next several minutes just stroking Lara's back while the archaeology student cried herself out.

Eventually Lara found her voice again. She sniffed, "Thank you, Sam."

"Any time."

"Whatever would I do without you?"

Jesus, she looked so mournful.

It was up to Sam to pilot the friendship boat and haul Lara out of her misery.

"You know what?" the film student declared. "I can't stand to see you like this. This calls for a bona fide Pity Party."

"What?" Lara's eyes widened.

Sam seized her friend's hand. "The alternative is that we go out and get you a lap dance."

The English girl started shaking her head frantically. "God, no!"

"Good. It's settled then."

Lara winced. "Sam, I'm really not up for anything right now."

"Which is why we're staying in."

"Oh." Instant placation.

"And getting drunk."

The hesitancy was immediately back. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You're new to this relationship stuff, Lara. One of the great traditions – a ritual ceremony even – is getting absolutely smashed after a brutal breakup, and badmouthing your ex."

"Oh right," the archaeologist smirked. "You've recruited me as a priestess for that particular _ritual_ a few times now. How could I forget?"

"Come on. It'll be fun. It'll help you feel a bit better. And it's Amanda. There is _loads_ to badmouth her about."

Lara's lips parted, and Sam braced to be berated. Pavlovian style. Except the English girl seemed to reconsider with the words still in her mouth. She still didn't look entirely sold on the idea, but what she said was "Alright."


	9. Chapter 9

For such a goodie-goodie, Lara had a surprisingly strong constitution. Her bloody Croftstitution again. Or her work as a barmaid. Either way, getting her drunk required gallons of booze. It was challenging even Sam's conditioning.

The girls had already had several back-to-back shots in the kitchen, alternating the spirits for maximum effect. Vodka, Jäger, tequila, schnapps, even some shitty budget ouzo they'd bought in Greece and forgotten about at the back of the cupboard.

Afterwards, with a selection of bottles in their arms, they'd staggered through to the lounge.

The two friends sat side-by-side on the couch, half-heartedly playing drinking games while The Twilight Saga marathoned on Sky Movies.

Even drunk, it was hard to keep Lara from dark thoughts.

While she was mixing Malibu and Coke with a decidedly heavy hand, the brunette muttered, "Did I just make a huge mistake?"

Sam didn't miss a beat. "I think you made the smartest decision of your life."

"It's just… I thought – "

"You didn't seriously think she was the One?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I thought..." Then Lara started smiling over the lip of her drink at a private joke.

Sam jabbed her in the shoulder. "What's so funny? Spill it, Croft."

"I don't know what I thought… apart from _God, the sex is incredible_."

And that was a prime indicator sober Lara had left the building – the shy English girl _never_ talked about her physical appetites.

Suddenly she sat up straight. White-faced, she addressed the room, "What if I never find anyone else like her?"

"I would say that's a great thing."

Lara swung her head towards her friend. "I'm serious. Intellectually, sexually, I've never connected with anyone like that before."

Sam put her drink down. "And how long have you been dating? You plan to see the world. There are literally thousands of lovely women out there who would trade their soul to be with someone like you, Lara. That perfect person for you exists, I promise; probably somewhere you least expect it."

"You think so?"

"I know so. And, best of all, none of them will be as big a bitch as Amanda."

Lara laughed at that – a bark that gave away just how far gone she was.

Her goofy grin held, but Sam could see the jubilance fading in her eyes. She was sinking back into the Swamp of Sorrows.

Lara confirmed the change by slumping back in her seat. She began to muse again, "I don't believe in karma. I don't believe in most things. But sometimes I wonder if it's real. I mean, what could I have possibly done, in this life or a past one, that I'm never allowed to be happy for more than a few seconds?"

_Because tragedy actually makes you more beautiful._

Sam could never say that though, so she settled for a physical demonstration of support. She reached out and cupped Lara's cheek even as her friend looked perilously close to tears again.

The English girl sighed, "My parents. Amanda… Why do I lose everyone that I care about?"

"You'll never lose me," Sam murmured. "Heh, even if you wanted to."

Lara cocked her head. "Now why would I ever want that?"

The way she said it – the sudden surge of surety; the way her eyes sparked and smouldered golden – Sam felt her heartbeat jitter. Reflexively, her gaze dipped to Lara's plump lips.

God, she was crushing on her best friend.

And was Lara flirting with her?

_Forget it, Sam. You're drunk and you're imagining things. She's drunk too._

Still, the American girl withdrew her hand, trying to hide the tremble in her fingers. She busied herself topping up the pair's drinks.

* * *

The evening was starting to fragment. Gaps opened up between moments of clarity, like a deck of cards splayed out on the table.

Lara didn't seem to be coping much better. She'd progressed to swigging straight out of a whisky bottle. Booze gave her the memory of a goldfish, and in her mournful state, she kept cycling around to the same points. So she was back to questioning the loss in her life.

Sam decided to short circuit the process. She grinned, "I'm not going anywhere, Lara."

"Yeah, but you're – you're not – I can never – "

"Never what?"

All the slurring, wincing and fumbling for words ceased. Lara looked at her companion and responded simply. "– have you."

_Holy crap. Was she being serious?_

With the sober, socially acceptable barriers removed, was that really what she'd been thinking all along?

Sam swallowed.

Well, there was one way to find out.

Sam clambered into Lara's lap and straddled her. "Are you so sure about that?"

The film student's action wasn't crossing a line; it was a full cartwheel across it. Sam recognised that fact.

So did Lara. She tensed and tried to push her friend off her. "Stop it. I can't handle being teased right now."

"Who's teasing?"

Sam brushed away Lara's hands, and placed her own palms on her companion's shoulders. Then she began circling her hips, lifting herself up and down in a simulation of the obvious.

Lara seemed captivated by the motion – particularly the gap that opened and closed between their pelvises. She flushed bright red. Eventually she managed to make eye contact with Sam. " _You_ are teasing me."

"I'm just giving you that cheer-up lap dance you refused earlier."

"Oh, God." Lara covered her face in her hands. But she was smiling behind her fingers. In the end, looking simultaneously goofy and groggy, she was able to sit back and enjoy the show.

Sam, meanwhile, was getting a kick out of providing that same show – especially the way Lara's mouth hung slack and her eyes grew increasingly heavy-lidded.

Sam leaned back. With her hips thrust forward and her chest pointed to the ceiling, she sang her invitation. "Make it rain, Lara, make it rain."

The English girl mock-hunted for her purse. "Make it rain? I'm an _Archaeology_ student. Would you accept a Costa gift card?"

While her friend was chuckling, Sam did what she always did.

_Seize the moment._

She leaned in a pressed her lips to Lara's.

For a heartbeat, Lara pressed back; her mouth opening to transform the kiss into something more.

Then she pulled away, wide-eyed. "Sam…"

The American girl placed her palm over Lara's mouth, catching the inevitable rebuff. "Don't. I wanted that. Truly. And I think you did too."

Lara pried Sam's fingers from her face. "For the longest time…" Filter-free, she wasn't even trying to deny it anymore. "But," she added with a deepening frown, "we're drunk."

"Very."

"So we can't."

"Getting drunk was the only way I could work up the courage."

"Neither of us is thinking straight."

"Heh. No. No, we aren't." Sam pecked at Lara's lips once more. "But I don't see the problem."

"I do." Lara shook her head. She slurred, "This would change everything between us. I can't risk losing you. It already hurts too much."

"You could never lose me, I swear. And it doesn't have to hurt."

Sam leaned in. She ran her nose along Lara's jaw, tracing the bone up to her ear.

_God, she smelt amazing._

"Mmmm," the filmmaker purred. "For one night, don't worry about it. Just let me help you feel good; help you feel appreciated the way you should be." She tongued the soft flesh of Lara's lobule, and then redirected her suckling to the side of the brunette's neck.

The English girl shuddered.

Time to seal the deal. Sam released her mouthful of flesh and whispered, "I'm yours, Lara. In every way. I always have been."

* * *

After that, well, things got really choppy.

Moments stood out though like Sam had already edited together a highlights reel.

The way the two girls smiled at each other in the aftermath of their first proper kiss – initiated with nose-bumping clumsiness.

How natural it felt reaching into Lara's pants. Finding her so ready was just a bonus.

Going to third base with her best friend there on the couch.

The deliciously soft, shiver-triggering feeling of her roommate's lips as they kissed a trail down her body.

The dual sensations of her fingers raking through Lara's hair, and her bare back against the lounge rug.

Crying out and arching up into the breathless young woman poised over her.

Straining to kiss the brunette in the floaty aftermath.

The light in Lara's irises when Sam finally confessed, "I love you so much."

* * *

The next time Sam opened her eyes, she was instantly blinded by daylight.

Even though she was lying on her side, facing away from the window, she grimaced and covered her face.

God, she felt rough.

Then the question needled her. Where was she? This wasn't her bedroom.

Fuck, it was Lara's.

Confirming it, an arm draped over her ribs from behind, and drew her back against the front of another body. A woman's body.

A flash of memory and then the gut-twisting realisation: Sam knew exactly what those juicy breasts pressing into her felt like. Specifically, in her hands. And between her lips.

The film student clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle her yelp.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

She'd lost her gay virginity to her best friend.

She was a living breathing lesbian cliché.

She glanced over her shoulder. Lara was snuggled there, fast asleep, angelically beautiful as always – and clothed in a vest, thank God.

What had Sam done?

Her heart pumped skittering anxiety through her limbs as her brain dredged up the answer.

_You made yourself Lara's drunken rebound._

The thoughts battered her in quick succession.

_You are selfish, Sam._

_She was miserable, and you manipulated her._

_You took advantage of her – treating her like she was a tied-up pony, just waiting to be ridden._

Sam suddenly felt unbearably hot and claustrophobic under the covers. In Lara's embrace.

She couldn't stay. She couldn't.

It sickened her to draw on her ninja-level one night stand skills, but that was what she needed just then. She gently lifted her companion's arm and slipped off the side of the mattress.

Ensuring she hadn't left any incriminating evidence – apparently she had discarded all her clothes before reaching the bedroom – she crept out the door.

* * *

She couldn't risk the hiss of a shower, so she simply tugged on the thickest, fluffiest, frumpiest pyjamas in her wardrobe. Then she wandered through to the kitchen, and slumped over the kitchen table like she was waiting to be flogged.

She deserved it, to be honest.

Eyes clenched shut, she whimpered, "I'm in love with her. I told her. And I slept with her."

On the living room floor.

And, from what she could remember at least, it had been incredible.

Life-altering, orientation-changing amazing…

But Lara was right – they shouldn't have. Sam had simple ignored her friend's objections and forced her feelings on her. When Lara had no willpower to resist; no shield to raise.

Like it or not, Sam had forever altered the nature of their relationship. There was no denying it.

She had let her infantile possessiveness get the better of her, and wrecked everything.

It had all been a huge mistake…

But then another part of her argued back: _No, it wasn't._

The words echoed in her skull: _You're in love with her. You told her. And you slept with her._

A third time – the most important bit: _You're in love with her._

She knew that now.

When it came to relationships, hook-ups, whatever, it had been wrong for so long she could recognise when it felt right.

_You're in love with her._

As she repeated it, a smile settled on her lips. She wasn't being selfish – a spoiled child refusing to share her toys. She loved Lara. She'd gone about it totally the wrong way but that didn't mean her feelings were invalid.

Lara wasn't Sam's moon. She was her sun.

Lara was… standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

Sam jumped; and then she cringed.

_Here it comes._

She may have looked like an angel in her sleep but awake, and in her tatty tartan robe, Lara could have done with an exorcist and a splash of holy water.

Her face was white; her lips almost as pale. There had always been a touch of the Mediterranean to her tone. Just then, though, the shadowed portions of her skin seemed to tinted actual olive green.

Her eyes were bloodshot. Well, one of them was. Her left eye seemed to be pasted shut.

As for her hair, Sam had joked in the past that the young British aristocrat was part Highland cow. In that moment, the way she was lumbering around, with her shaggy locks everywhere, there seemed to truth to that quip about her bloodline.

"Goddamn you, Sam," the English girl growled.

The film student felt her gut turn to lead, and then crash through her intestines. It had actually happened. She had ruined everything.

She started to gasp an apology. "La – "

"This is your fault."

"Babe, I can – "

"No!" Lara shut her flatmate down as she lurched into the space.

Sam could feel the tears and the hyperventilation welling within her. Her body was simply skin stretched over a massive bubble of emotion about to explode.

Terrified it would pop, she sat frozen as Lara collapsed into a chair opposite her.

"I feel so shite," the English girl proclaimed. Then she folded over the table, smacking her cheek against the surface. She clutched her abdomen and groaned into the wood. "I want to die. Why did I let you convince me last night was a good idea?"

"What?!"

Sam couldn't help it. She meant the question internally, for herself – this wasn't the tirade she expected from her friend at all – but her surprise vented in a yell.

Lara lifted her head and winced her response, "How was last night supposed to make me feel better?" When Sam didn't reply immediately, the archaeology student flopped limp over the table once more. "I'm _never_ drinking again."

Sam swallowed. Her breathing was still too shallow to truly calm her, but she no longer felt about to burst into tears. Lara's loathing was entirely centred on her hangover. Evidently. Nothing she had said or done since entering the kitchen referred to their R-rated exploits of the previous night.

Sam decided to test the friendship waters with a wisecrack.

She leaned over the table and whispered, "Maybe Amanda put a voodoo hex on you or something?"

"Hyynnn," Lara grimaced.

Sam gaped at her best friend. She had anticipated fury or overpowering awkwardness; not _this_. This was like engaging with an already half-suffocated fish hauled up onto the shore.

Conscious she could trigger a fresh bout of thrashing at any second, Sam gently prodded the trout. "Babe," she murmured, "What do you remember about last night?"

"The last thing?"

"Anything."

"Not much."

_Oh my God._

Sam jerked back in her chair at the same instant Lara pushed herself up onto her elbows.

The English girl muttered, "I remember gulping Teacher's straight out the bottle." She dry heaved once, swallowed and whimpered. "Christ."

"And after that?" Sam probed.

Lara blinked. She frowned as she started ransacking her memory. "I dunno, some…" Alertness flashed in her pupils, and her cheeks reddened. "Some… weird dreams." Her gaze broke from Sam's and she fidgeted in her seat. "I had some weird dreams."

Suddenly Lara was on her feet. She shoved back her chair. "Um, I'm going to make tea. You want?"

"No thanks."

Sam stared while her bff struggled with the mundane task. Lara's hands were shaking too much to open the box of PG Tips, and she dropped it on the counter twice. She seemed almost frantic about it; doing her darndest not to engage with her companion throughout the activity.

Sam blew out her cheeks. She felt oddly conflicted. Lara's memory loss – or feigned memory loss – was the film student's Get Out of Jail Free card. If she played it, all the anxiety she had already grappled with that morning could be forgotten.

She and Lara could carry on as they always had: simply as best mates. With no spiked romantic landmines to stumble over and blow things apart.

But with the card in her hands, did she really want to play it? A part of her insisted that what happened wasn't a mistake. Events had aligned over the past few months to create a runway to this exact moment.

Sam stood. She rounded the counter so that she was right at Lara's right elbow. Impossible to ignore.

The archaeology student had finally brewed her cup of tea. She raised the mug to her lips.

Sam sucked in a breath. "Lara?"

Mid-sip, the English girl turned to her. The friends' pupils locked.

_This is it, Sam. You may not be a Croft but you damn well can do this._

The wannabe filmmaker restarted, "Listen, there's something I – "

A shudder ran through Lara. Her eyes shot wide with desperation. An instant later she slammed her mug on the kitchen island and fled.

* * *

Sam followed the horrible retching sounds.

She found the English girl on her knees in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet. In between bouts of vomiting the archaeology student managed to wail, "I'm dying."

Feeling just a tad guilty, Sam crossed her arms. She sighed, "Lara Croft, you are not dying."

Face contorted with misery, Lara spat into the toilet bowl. Then she spat a second time, "I hate you."

Sam knelt down next to her friend as a fresh round of retching began. She tenderly drew the brunette's hair away from her face.

"Well, I love you, sweetie."


	10. Chapter 10

Three months.

Three months and Lara still wasn't back on the dating horse. There was no shortage of cute girls chatting her up, or probing Sam for information to get in the archaeology student's pants, but Lara kept insisting that she wasn't over Amanda. That she needed time to get her head and heart in the right space again.

Sam didn't buy that excuse.

She could recognise Lara's enjoyment of a life romantically unencumbered. The English girl clearly appreciated having more time for her ascetic lifestyle of study, work, work out and repeat. But Sam was sure there was more to it than simply relishing extra hours in the day.

She couldn't broach the subject, however. She felt way too personally invested in it. So, as usual, she hid behind her sense of humour.

She'd taken to addressing Lara as Reverend Mother. She especially delighted in calling it out on campus given the glare it stoked from Lara, and the quizzical looks from people in her vicinity.

The thing was, sometimes Lara could give as good as she got. Get the fire going, and she was surprisingly snarky.

Her response to Sam's teasing was to redub her friend Sister Nishimura. She added with a smirk, "I don't understand why I'm getting the third degree when I haven't seen you on the prowl in weeks. Did your dad finally slap a chastity belt on you?"

It was partially true. Since the drunken pity party in the girls' apartment, Sam hadn't gone out. There had been a few post-work drinks but she had always been on her best-ish behaviour.

She wanted to be there for Lara, to help her in any way that she could.

Amanda's words haunted her. _What do you do for her, Sam? One thing. Tell me._

The film student had a huge deficit to make up for. She had been a terrible friend.

The problem was that she was really unsubtle about rectifying the situation. And honesty was no help at all. Quite the opposite in fact.

* * *

One evening Lara came home from archery practice sporting a grimace. Normally a session with the Sisters of Artemis helped her unwind.

"What is it, babe?"

Sam hopped up from the couch with the mug of tea she had prepared for her friend's arrival.

Lara rubbed the side of her neck, and sighed. "I think I pulled something."

"Would you like a massage?"

Sam must have blurted it a little too eagerly because Lara paused. Those too-alert eyes blinked. Then they tracked in slow-mo from her roommate's smile down to the mug in her hands, and then back up to her face.

"What – What's going on, Sam?"

"What do you mean?"

Lara gestured at the tea. "This. Massage offers. Sneaking packed lunches into my bag, for God sake. Have you done something I don't know about?"

More like _don't remember._

"No, of course not." The American girl shook her head.

"Then what? I'm not complaining, mind you; in fact it's nice…"

Sam's heartbeat danced.

"…but it seems so out of character for you."

Maybe it was time for some tentative truth?

Sam winced, "What happened with Amanda, I realised that I don't do enough for you."

Lara still stiffened at the mention of her ex's name. The defensiveness seeped into her words. "That's absurd."

"I've taken you for granted, Lara."

Sam held out the mug, which her flatmate accepted. As their fingers brushed, the American girl elaborated. "I just want to make your life easier; alleviate what stress I can. Whatever you need."

_Alleviate stress. Whatever you need._

She didn't mean it like that at all, but she sounded so dodgy – like a character at the start of a really trashy porno.

Lara seemed to recognise the subtext too. She hopped away from Sam's touch. Jerking the mug to her lips did a poor job of masking her blush. With the lower half of her face still hidden, she murmured, "You don't have to."

Smothered by awkwardness, the exchange pretty much ended there.

Sam had scurried to her bedroom and screamed into her pillow for a full minute.

* * *

And so the scenario repeated as if the film student was living her own customised version of Groundhog Day.

Every single time she even started to express her feelings, Lara would get twitchy and dart for an exit.

It had been so much easier when they were drunk.

The film student was on brink of giving up when a ridiculous improv in drama class stirred up an idea, which in turn set as a feasible plan.

* * *

Sam was trying to respect Lara's boundaries, so she tapped on the door that afternoon instead of simply barging in.

"Yes?" came the disinterested response.

_God, she already sounded like a crusty old professor._

Sam popped around the door. She smiled sweetly, "Just to let you know you have a date on Thursday night."

Then she darted back behind the wood.

It didn't even take a heartbeat.

" _What?!_ SAM!"

The film student stuck her head back into view. She donned the expression of a Renaissance period saint.

Lara was rigid at her desk. White faced, she could have passed for an Edward Munch painting. She spluttered, "Sam, you can't just…"

Her friend knew the warning signs. Lara was nearing eruption but fighting hard to keep the lava contained within her.

Ignoring her survival instincts, Sam stepped into the room. She shrugged, "I know it's your evening off."

"That doesn't give you any right to…" Lara's voice died a second time. She clenched her eyes shut, and muttered through equally clenched teeth, "Cancel it. Cancel the date."

"She's perfect for you, Lara."

"I don't care!" The brunette's eyes shot open. There was the blazing death glare. "I'm not up for seeing anyone right now. I told you. Stop meddling in my personal life!"

Immediately shame seemed to smother the blaze. Her gaze dropped to her feet at the same instant her voice softened. "You know I hate it."

"I'll make you a deal, Lara. I will drop the topic for good. No teasing ever again. The single condition is that you go on this one date. So you don't actually forget how to do it, and regress to being that awkward wallflower I first met."

As Sam expected, the rationale pierced through her companion's defensiveness. The brunette's one eyebrow twitched; proof that she was considering the offer.

But she continued to resist. She grumbled, "I'm really angry, Sam."

"You can't be that angry. Nothing is broken, and I still have the use of all my fingers."

That was a low blow, Sam had to admit. It jabbed Lara in her most sensitive nerve cluster.

It worked though.

The English girl's shoulders sagged. "Dating women is so much more emotionally draining…"

"You don't have to marry her, sweetie. It's just a nice dinner and chat; no expectations attached."

"There is no such thing."

She was being petulant, but she had wordlessly conceded defeat. Sam was extremely familiar with that tone. It accompanied 90% of her wins over her best friend.

The film student grinned, "I promise you won't regret this, Lara."

Phase One complete.

* * *

Three days later, it was date night.

In the intervening time, Lara had attempted to chisel information out of Sam, but the American girl had been basalt.

"Think of it as one of your excavations, babe. Discovering the unknown."

Still, Lara hated surprises, so Sam had ended up revealing some information before her flatmate got too antsy and bailed on the whole thing.

"She's a girl in my drama class."

Lara's eyes had widened in response. "What could I possibly have in common with an actress?"

"She's not. She's a Media & Communication student."

"Oh... That's… that's marginally better."

For the three days, Sam had kept an eye on her friend. Primarily that was to ensure the brunette didn't try to back out. But she had to play watchman for other reasons too.

* * *

"Lara, no."

The English girl threw her arms wide. "Christ, what's the problem now?"

"You're not going out in that top."

"What's wrong with it? I like it."

Sam leapt up off the couch, where she had been waiting as the fashion gatekeeper.

She pinched the collar of Lara's hopelessly dull button-up shirt and pulled a face. "It does nothing for you. It looks like something you found on one of your digs."

"I bought it _last year_."

"Exactly. It's ancient."

Lara's brow clenched. "Well, I – "

Sam clipped the inevitable argument. "Let me find you something better. And while we're at it, I'll see what I can do about your face."

"I put on make-up!"

Sam scrutinised the minimalist effort. She sighed, "We can do better. Much better."

She seized her flatmate's hand and hauled her down the passageway; ignoring the mutterings that trailed behind her.

The wardrobe choice was obvious: a tight v-neck top that teased Lara's spectacular cleavage but was in all other ways modest enough not to tap a fresh stream of grumbling.

With the archaeology student placated but nervous, Sam gave her a hug and saw her out the front door.

* * *

Half an hour later Sam was the anxious one. Her hand was trembling as she reached for the brass door handle.

She could see Lara in a booth towards the back of the tiny Italian cafe. Her nerves had got the better of her, clearly. She was scrutinising every item on the menu, focusing her pursed-lip attention on anything but the entrance of the eatery.

So she received an extra jolt of shock when she looked up and saw Sam approaching.

Lara gulped, "Oh God, she cancelled, didn't she?"

"No."

Lara didn't seem to hear her companion. She shook her head, "All this for nothing."

Sam inhaled a yogi's breath, held it for a count of five, and exhaled.

"She didn't cancel, Lara."

"What… What do you mean?"

Sam didn't have to answer. Lara was emotionally guarded most of the time, but her face was practically a doorway to her thoughts. The American girl watched her friend's eyes widen as her brain settled on the conclusion.

Her lips were lagging behind. "Oh," she swallowed.

Sam smiled weakly, "Heh. Surprise."

Realising she'd been standing long enough to attract attention – and make Lara feel even more uncomfortable – she slid into the seat opposite her flatmate.

A fresh surge of butterflies had Sam scrambling for any activity that would delay the inevitable next step. Plus provide a bonus excuse not to look directly at Lara.

Because the brunette had evidently calcified.

Sam supposed she should be grateful. The worst case scenario in her head had been Lara throwing a fit and storming out. Still, the film student wasn't sure the English girl's aghast expression was any better. She looked like a cornered deer that could at moment vault over the table in a desperate escape attempt.

Sam started to shrug out of her jacket.

That got a reaction from Lara at least. She didn't move but Sam could feel the archaeologist's gaze scanning over her revealed outfit, assessing the combination of skinny jeans, chunky belt and funky designer tee as definite date wear. It was Sam making an effort, but only a few notches above her everyday wardrobe choices so as to put her best friend at ease.

It wasn't exactly working.

In one final attempt to discount the truth, Lara whispered, "There really isn't a camera set up somewhere? One of those TV pranks?"

"No, Lara."

"A joke like that time you sneaked a vibrator into my hand luggage and airport security whipped it out?"

"No."

Lara slumped back in her seat with a grimace.

A waiter appeared then, and Sam offhandedly ordered a glass of chardonnay. She extended the invitation.

"You want some wine?"

"No." Lara practically barked it.

"Oh, right. I forgot." After _that_ night, the English girl had mostly stuck to her teetotaller's pledge. Sitting before her just then was what looked like a glass of cranberry juice.

With the waiter dismissed, Sam pressed herself back into the booth cushioning, mirroring her friend's posture.

"So…"

Their friendship had essentially started in a restaurant so it made sense to take it to the next level in the same setting. However, for that to work, she needed her best friend back on the other side of the table; not the woman evidently grinding her teeth on a mouthful of glass.

"Can we just try something?" Sam extended her hand. "Hi. I'm Sam."

Lara resisted.

When Sam didn't retract her arm, though, the brunette hesitatingly reached over the table.

"Lara."

Sam gave her hand a healthy Yank shake. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me."

"Don't mention it."

"I don't do this often, to be honest."

"Neither do I." The expression the English girl wore was one of rigidly set scepticism.

Sam couldn't help but break from the skit. "Wow, smooth tongue, Lara Croft. Do all the ladies get wet for your monosyllabic responses?"

The frown deepened into a glare.

"Too much? Sorry."

_Now is not the time for jokes, Nishimura._

Sam cleared her throat and attempted to restart the role-play.

"Do you mind me asking who put you up to this?"

Lara rolled her eyes. She sighed heavily, "My flatmate. She said she'd stop rashing me about my love life if I agreed to one blind date with a pretty girl."

"You think I'm pretty?" Sam batted her eyelashes like a cartoon vixen.

"Well, that's what my flatmate said."

The complete disinterest as Lara reached for her drink and took a sip; Sam couldn't help but feel stung.

"Oh."

Lara lowered her glass. She arched an eyebrow. "I happen to think you're far beyond pretty." A smile tweaked the corner of her mouth. "Gorgeous, more like."

There was that panty-dropping smooth tongue.

Sam felt a surge of warmth in her cheeks. That wasn't like her at all.

Lara was still looking at her, but the brunette's smile had vanished. "How long are we going to keep this up? All evening?"

Maybe it was time to end the improv after all? Sam suddenly felt unbelievably tired, like she had dragged a bag of kettlebells all the way from the apartment to the restaurant.

She murmured, "I didn't know how to do this, okay?"

"What?"

"Tell you how I feel... about you."

Lara swallowed.

"That whole thing with Amanda, it made me realise what you mean to me."

Sam expected a "Which is?" from her companion, but Lara sat silent.

So Sam continued. "I love you. As… as more than just a friend."

More stone-faced silence.

Sam had practiced her explanation several times, but the words were getting hard to form. They continually wedged in her throat.

"Watching you with Amanda… Even before her, actually, you've always been the person I think of most. Every day. _Oh, Lara would really love this... God, I can't wait to tell Lara… I wonder what Lara would think… Lara, Lara, Lara…_ You're the most important person in my life. And now there's this element of physical attraction on top of all that."

Lara winced. "Sam – "

The American girl wouldn't let herself be interrupted. She had to get it all out. _Now._

"Springing this whole date thing on you wasn't fair of me, I know. I'm sorry. But if I didn't say something I really would go crazy; do something extra stupid. Unlike you I can't sit on my feelings forever..."

She added, "And I know this could make things weird between us, and nothing could come from it, but I just had to lay all the cards out on the table, you know?"

Lara's gaze dipped to the tablecloth. "I know. I… I wish I was better at doing that. I'm such a coward."

Sam was stunned by the admission. "Lara, that's the last thing you are."

"I am." The archaeology student looked up. "If I can't deal with something, I run; fling all my efforts into something else to keep me distracted. So I don't have to think, or feel."

She exhaled. "And Sam, I know. What happened that night I broke up with Amanda, I remember."

"And you were hoping to just sweep it under the carpet and forget about it?"

"Yes… Yes. It was a huge mistake."

"Oh." Sam felt hope siphon from her in the single breath it took to expel the word.

"I should never have done that. I never _ever_ wanted you to be a drunken rebound. You deserve so much more than that. The way I used you… shit, I'm so ashamed."

 _That's_ what was eating her up?

Her mood instantly buoyed, Sam chuckled, "Babe, I jumped _you_."

Lara shook her head, "I could have resisted, but I let it happen. I'm not good girlfriend material. I'm not even a decent friend. I look at events of the past few months and I'm just so selfish and self-absorbed. God, and foul tempered."

"Well, people could say the same thing about me. Two peas in a pod."

Sam reached out and rested her hand over Lara's, where it was clenched on the table.

The American girl continued, "But I really believe we're good for each other. You rein in my impulsiveness, and I haul that stunning face out of dusty old books and into the modern world every now and then. You do recognise that, right?"

Lara nodded slowly.

Sam added, "Plus, sweetie, a good number of people already suspect we're a couple. Gal pals. BFFs with benefits at least.

"I'm not doing that!" Lara blurted. "Too much could go wrong."

"I don't want that either. I'd like to give things a real shot. If you're up for it."

Sam felt her companion's fist release, and flatten out. Then Lara's thumb slipped free and began stroking over the webbing of Sam's hand.

It felt amazingly good.

The archaeology student still hadn't responded verbally. She was fixated on the pair's fingers.

Sam scrambled for further reassurance. "What I said earlier holds true, Lara. No expectations… We take things one day at a time."

Brown irises lifted, and locked onto Sam's. "I'd like that."

Finally the pressure released after weeks of holding breaths, and the bodies of both young women relaxed.

Broadening smile met broadening smile.

"So," Sam winked, "I'm not normally one for doing this on the first date, but would you like to come back to my place?"

* * *

Back at the flat, Sam was suddenly anxious again. She'd shaved and plucked and waxed in case sex happened, but as the nebulous possibility transitioned to something more definite, she found herself afflicted with a bad case of nerves.

As always she groped for humour as her safety blanket.

In the entrance hall, she turned around to face Lara, who was right behind her, hanging up her jacket.

Sam rested her hand on her friend's forearm and whispered," Listen, we have to be quiet. My roommate is probably studying or sleeping."

She wasn't expecting Lara to go along with it but the English girl had clearly found her chill. She pulled a face. "Wow, she sounds like a barrel of laughs. How do you stand living with someone like that?"

"Oh, I think you'd like her. Complete history nerd."

"Sounds like my kind of woman."

"She has a very big… bookshelf."

"Mmmm," Lara purred. She thrust her hands into her front pockets. "Think you could set us up?"

Sam feigned contemplation. "Actually, how do you feel about a threesome? A Lara Sandwich is sounding pretty good ri – "

Lara stepped in and kissed her.

Sam may have mewled her delight for an instant. Then her arms folded reflexively around her companion's neck.

_I love you, Lara. I love you so much._

They just stood there making out for several minutes.

It was so much better sober. Drunk, Sam had been too numb to appreciate the nuances – all the little details she'd missed out on, like the adorably tentative way Lara introduced her tongue to her kisses. And the oddly contradictory sensation of Lara's womanly curves in one hand, and all her hard, practically invisible, muscle in the other.

At some point, Sam's mounting enthusiasm got the better of her. Pressing into Lara with excess passion, the pair lost balance and stumbled into the wall. That jolted the English girl from the shared reverie.

Breathless, she resisted Sam's attempt to seize her mouth.

"Are – are you truly serious about this, Sam? I mean, you've never shown any interest before."

"You mean in girls?"

Lara nodded. "You've always been so into guys. There was no question."

In response, Sam ran her index finger along her friend's cheekbone, pushing back the hair obscuring the beautiful sight. "Maybe it's because I hadn't met the right woman. The one who would change everything."

Lara smiled softly. Shyly.

She chuckled, "That I can understand. You do realise this – me, well, coming out – was about you?"

"What do you mean?"

Lara was back to self-consciously avoiding her companion's gaze. Her eyes danced from the ceiling to the room corner, and then to her chest, skipping straight over Sam's face.

"I suspected for a long time that I… _liked_ women. I always preferred spending time with them; got the most fulfilment out of it. But that was easy to dismiss as something platonic. Most people feel more comfortable with their own sex."

She dared a glance at Sam. "With you though, I found myself wanting _more_. There was a moment I remember looking at you, and you were smiling and laughing, and I was so utterly happy. Right then I realised all I wanted to do was take you in my arms and kiss you. I wanted you, Sam. I wanted _everything_ with you – the full package deal.

"But I needed to understand. I needed to see if my feelings held up; that they weren't a one-time thing. So I started to experiment, with Mai, and others. I had a theory I needed to explore…"

Sam grinned, " _A theory I needed to explore_. God, you are such an academic."

Pink cheeked, Lara snickered along with her friend.

"So, Dr Croft…" Sam interlinked her fingers behind Lara's neck. "How has your research turned out?"

The film student tilted her head and leaned in.

She felt Lara breathe her response against her lips. "Results are promising."

Sam's eyes closed. "Mmm, that's good to hear. Your theory holding up?"

Soft flesh brushed over her mouth.

A murmur. "Yes. Yes, I believe it is."

* * *

They had relocated to Sam's bed. Reclined on top of the covers, they were laughing, talking shit, watching YouTube videos and sharing a bowl of microwave popcorn. It was relaxed natural perfection, which every so often got even better.

Because every so often it would segue into a fresh make-out session.

As with just about everything else, Lara was an amazing kisser. Sam had kind of expected her to be dominant in the bedroom, but even her more assertive patches were tempered with tenderness – and a generosity Sam wasn't used to at all. In fact, Lara let the American girl lead for the most part, which may have been a mistake.

Sam was raring to go, after all.

Having pushed aside the laptop and popcorn, they writhed in a clinch. Lara was on her back; Sam mostly on top of her. The archaeology student had her companion's head cradled, holding their faces together, while their sandwiched thighs strained.

In a moment of clarity, Sam decided that there was too much clothing in the way. Way too much.

Her hand slid up under Lara's shirt.

The English girl tensed. Her fingers shot after Sam's, intercepted them and then interlaced.

"Woah," Lara gasped. "Not that I don't want it, but can we slow things down a little?"

Sam groaned.

"Please, Sam."

"You realise we're doing this largely ass about face, sweetie?"

"I know, but I want to do things right. Well, as much as possible anyway."

Beneath the heel of her hand, Sam could feel the beat of Lara's heart. Steady and strong. Like its owner.

The American girl growled, "I cannot believe you're blue-balling me, Lara. It actually physically hurts."

"Sorry." The brunette was suddenly bashful and tentative again.

Sam sighed as she rolled off her companion. "It's alright. We have all the time in the world."

"Thank you."

The girls cuddled up once more. Sam settled into the spot under Lara's right arm, where she could rest her skull on the crook of her companion's shoulder. It also gave her a great view of Lara's inviting lips, darker and poutier than usual in their well-kissed state.

Looking at them actually made it difficult to concentrate, especially as Lara had started stroking her fingers through Sam's bob. Every one of the film student's senses was keyed to turn her on.

She desperately needed to redirect her thoughts before she shoved Lara down among the pillows, and climbed back on.

She cleared her throat.

"Alright, so if we can't shag ourselves senseless, what can we do?"

"Hmmm. How about you tell me about Himiko and Yamatai?"

Sam propped herself up on her elbows and frowned at her flatmate. "A bedtime story? For reals, Croft?"

"Just humour me. It's something I've been thinking about a lot lately."

"Hot! You could be thinking about me, you know?"

"I'm always thinking about you, Sam."

That earned Lara a fresh peck on the mouth.

As they settled down again, the archaeology student murmured, "This is something professional. Something huge, potentially."

"Alright then. Let's see… A couple of thousand years ago, Queen Himiko pretty much ran things in Japan. Himiko was beautiful, enigmatic and all-round fabulous. But that's to be expected seeing as she's an ancestor of yours truly."

Lara grinned, "Of course."

"I'm serious. Anyway, on top of it all, legend says Himiko had shamanistic powers."

A snort.

Sam elbowed her friend in the ribs. "Oh shut up. You asked for this. Open mind, Lara; you're an LGBTer now."

"Right, sorry."

"Stories say the sun rose at Queen Himiko's command and she ruled everything its rays touched…"

Sam felt Lara's weight shift beneath her.

"La – "

"Ssshhhh." Lips skimmed the American girl's ear. "I changed my mind."

Sam's breath snagged in her throat.

"Keep going," Lara prompted.

"Him – Himiko ruled from the mountains to the…"

A kiss on Sam's jawbone.

"…um, sea, heh…"

Another kiss, on the soft flesh between Sam's jaw and mouth.

"…the sea and, uh…"

Sam turned her face. The tip of her nose brushed against Lara's. She was right there, like she'd always been – with her beautifully deep, always slightly sad, eyes. They were reading the film student's expression like one of her books.

Sam found herself hypnotised by those barely parted lips again.

_They were getting closer, weren't they?_

A feather's touch against her mouth was the answer.

The American girl shuddered as Lara's tongue teased her lips apart.

Before her eyelids closed – before conversation became impossible – Sam managed one final word.

"…beyond."


End file.
